Life, Liberty, And
by Sintendo
Summary: The father of 10. A General of the U.S. Army. A faithful Catholic. Will this man take the position given to him and act as the caretaker, the leader, or the saint? Will he destroy the foundation the SWA was built upon, or will his judgement strengthen it?
1. Prelude: Who's This Guy?

_**10/27/06 UPDATE: If you know about the information in the Gunslinger Girl Manga not yet released in the U.S. (specifically Volumes 6 and 7) the contents of this story WILL NOT be canon. If you haven't read the manga at all, then no need to worry.**  
_

_Note: Ahh my second fanfic… am I emerging from my "nerd closet"? Nah, I'm good…. Anyways, this is a fan fiction involving the world of Gunslinger Girl by Yu Aida. Not only that, but there are many, many, many…, MANY other references made to countless other anime, videogame characters, TV shows, novels, short stories, web-comics, etc. so you could say that this an accumulation of everything that I love and cherish in the fiction world into one. Either that or I really need to come out of the "nerd closet"…. It's a light-hearted story with a touch of drama here and there, some comedy thrown in, and quite a bit of action. Some things may seem out of place when compared to the "real-life" situations detailed in the Gunslinger Girl world, but, hey, this IS fanfiction(dot)net, isn't it?_

_Anyways, this is the Prelude Chapter to Life, Liberty, And… by me, Sintendo.  
_

_Note2: A thing about the title. It's meant to be read with the chapter title as well. Ex: for this chapter, you'd read "Life, Liberty, And… Who's This Guy?". Got it? Cat Fish? (Simpsons reference)_

_Note3: This should be a given, but just in case… SPOILERS TO GUNSLINGER GIRL ARE CONTAINED WITHIN THIS STORY Both the anime AND the manga…. _

_Things to remember when reading:_

**BOLD - **_angry_

_ITALICS - thoughts_

_**BOLD, ITALIC AND UNDERLINE - **time change, location change, etc._

_Definitions to foreign words are given at the end of the sentence it is used. (Thanks to Colonel Marksman for this idea)_

_When a character is speaking, always assume they are speaking Italian unless stated otherwise._

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* * *

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_(Name:Position) _

_That bar above with a name underneath means a perspective change to that character. (Thanks to Colonel. Marksman for this idea)_

_Special thanks to: Colonel Marksman and Nachtsider for the inspiration to write this. And to Sheo Darren for the awesome GSG stories. Pinoy ikaw? And last, but not least, to Ministry Agent for that hilarious GSG fanfic about Claes and Triela. _

_This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to an event or person, living or deceased, is purely coincidental._

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Prelude Chapter: Who's This Guy?_**

**_Rome Fiumicino Leonardo Da Vinci Airport, Rome, Italy; 1330 hours, June 12, 2005_**

"Excuse me sir?" a burly man behind the counter asked him, "I'm sorry, but You cannot carry that weapon around this airport, unless you have a permit."

The uniformed man smiled as he pulled off his sunglasses.

"Ah, excuse me." He said, reaching into his back pocket and retrieving a small document, "Here's my permit."

The burly man read aloud in perfect English, "1st Lieutenant, Percival U. Nowell, United States Army. Restricted to small caliber, non-rifle small arms only." He handed the slip of paper back to Percival. "I'm sorry for the trouble sir." He said in Italian, "But you do realize why we must do so…"

"I may be American," Percival chuckled, pocketing the document, and picking up his bags, "But I'm not stupid. I completely understand."

_**Several minutes later**_

The hustle and bustle of one of Italy's busiest airports seemingly buzzed by Percival, as he waited underneath the shade of an enormous pillar in the afternoon sun; sweat beaded his forehead, and the edges of his thin framed, Oakley sunglasses began to fog due to the change in humidity between the outside heat, and inside the airport's air-conditioned interior. He took a paper towel from his pocket and wiped his forehead.

"Jesus Christ…" He said to himself in English, "Fucking hot here…"

As if on cue, a solid black Mercedes-Benz S600 sedan pulled over in front of where he stood. As the vehicle shifted into park, a tall slim blonde man exited the driver's side of the car and approached Percival. At about the same time, a blonde, short haired little girl of about 12 or 13 years of age, exited the rear passenger side, approaching Percival as well.

"Good Afternoon, sir." The blonde man spoke in English with a light Italian accent.. "I'm sorry for the delay. We were caught in heavy traffic." He reached over for a hand shake, "My name's Jean."

"No problem at all," Percival, speaking in perfect Italian, received his hand and shook, "I'm Lt. Percival Nowell."

"Impressive." Jean said, reverting to his native language.

"Not all of us Americans are lazy." Percival laughed.

"Ha!" Jean laughed as well, "If I hadn't known any better, I'd have thought you were born and raised here, especially with that dialect of yours."

"My father encourages my siblings and I to learn more than one language." Percival adjusted the strap of the bag on his shoulder.

"Let me get that for you, sir." Jean said, taking 2 of the 4 bags that Percival had near him. He carefully placed them into the trunk of his car.

"How long do you think it'll take to reach the agency?" Percival asked, entering the front passenger side of the car.

"With traffic the way it is now…" Jean checked his watch, "I'd say about 6 hours…"

**_Later, on the road to the Social Welfare Agency; 1400 hours_**

Percival wearily peered out his side of the window, half disgusted, half intrigued. This was the first time he'd been in Italy, but this wasn't the way he'd imagine it would appear.

Miles ahead of where they sat in traffic was an ocean of cars; all had their engines turned off; some drivers even exited their vehicles and went into stores next to the road to pass time.

"What happened up there?" Percival asked.

"I'm not too sure," Said Jean, "But when we passed on the way over, there was a chemical spill… It's actually much worse this time around…"

"Jesus, Maria, Joseph…" Percival cursed to himself and laid his brief case on his lap. Looking at the rear view mirror, he spotted the little blonde girl staring back at him; a look of curiosity painted on her face.

"You haven't introduced me to the cute one," Percival said, "She's your daughter?"

"Excuse me for asking so bluntly, Lieutenant," Jean said, "But have you been told what we at the Social Welfare Agency deal with?

"Yea, but very little." Percival placed his laptop computer on his lap and opened it. He then proceeded to digging into the computer's files, showing an official order from one "General Nowell". "All I know is that your Agency deals with the field of cyborg soldiers…," He clicked around a bit more, "And you are Jean Croce… one of the handlers or trainers of one of the cyborgs… don't tell me…" He turned in his seat to face the blonde girl, who waved back to him.

"Her name's 'Rico'," Jean said, "And she's my cyborg."

Percival slumped back into his seat, "Jesus, Maria, and Joseph… what did my father drag me into…"

"Your father?" Rico asked.

"Yep." Percival rested his hands behind his head, "My father… or 'The General' as my brothers and sisters like to tease."

"Brothers? Sisters?" Rico questioned.

"Heh… 10 in total."

"Wow, 10?" Jean was slightly amazed.

"Yup. 6 boys and 4 girls."

"That many?" Rico asked, "What are their names? How old are they? How old are you?"

Percival turned around, "You sure are a curious one, aren't you?"

"Rico, stop it." Jean ordered.

"No, it's fine," Percival returned to his seat, "We've got plenty of time anyways."

After a moment of silence, Rico once again spoke, "What are your brothers and sisters like? Are you the eldest?"

"Sadly, I'm not." Percival closed his eyes, "My twin brothers, Rokusho and Keiichi are the eldest."

"Why do they have Japanese names?" Jean asked.

"My mother is Japanese." Percival said.

"You don't look Japanese though." Rico said.

"That…" Percival thought for a moment, "That's a story you're gonna have to ask my father about." He smiled, "Anyways, they're both 30 years old. I'm next in line. I'm 27 years old, by the way. Then comes my OTHER twin brothers: Jin and Tsubasa, both 25."

"Woah!" Jean exclaimed, "Two sets of twins?"

"Yeah, I know…" Percival grumbled, "After them comes my brother Raleigh, 23. He's in the Navy and is currently attempting S.E.A.Ls training. Then my sisters April, May, June, and…"

"July?" Rico asked.

Percival laughed, "No, no, no… my youngest sister is named 'Nana'. They're 20, 18, 15, and 12, respectively."

Jean blew a whistle of amazement.

After another moment of silence it was Jean's turn to ask a question.

"So…," He started, "How's you're mother and father like?"

"My parents?" Percival sat up, "My mother enlisted into the U.S. Navy after highschool. She served as a Corps. Man for the Navy until she badly injured her ankle in Iraq during Desert Storm. Now she works in the hospital at Yokota Air Force Base, west of Tokyo. Master Chief Petty Officer, Kasumi T. Nowell."

"And your father?" Jean asked.

"My father…" Percival stared into space, thinking of what to say, " What can I say about my father? He joined the Army at the age of 16… he snuck in…"

"Wow," Rico said, "Your family is very patriotic."

"Not really…" Percival admitted, "My dad was living on the streets with nowhere to go. Actually, he rarely mentions anything about himself before he joined the military. All I know is that he traveled the world with his master at the time…"

"Master?" Jean interrupted, "Was he a slave?"

"No, no," Percival countered, "He was training with a sharp-shooter, martial artist type of person. I don't know any more than that and the only other person who knows about it is my mom."

"Why won't he tell you?" Rico asked.

"Most likely personal reasons. I respect that, actually, I'm not very nosy when it comes to personal business."

"Which is a characteristic I admire." Jean said, eyeing Rico through his center rear-view mirror.

"Anyways, he had a blood test, and apparently he's of British decent, but his parents are so old that they're unidentifiable."

"What a shame…" Jean commented. "His parents ought to be proud of him, with what all he's accomplished during his years in service."

"Indeed," Percival agreed, "Which reminds me of a story." He turned to face Rico, "It's a long story. You won't fall asleep, will you?" He joked.

"I like stories." Rico smiled.

"Good." Percival returned to his seat, "It's a story my father's friend told me many times. About a time when they served in the Philippines with the Special Forces…"

* * *

(Percival: Narrator) 

**_Baguio City, Philippine Islands; 0100 hours, August 15, 1973_**

There was a joint raid on Baguio by the Navy S.E.A.Ls and The Army Green Berets planned for this night.

Their mission was to invade the base of Ahmed Hussein Mohammed Ali, father of current holder of the third most wanted terrorist: Abdelkarim Hussein Mohamed Al-Nasser, and eliminate him and his small factory of explosives.

My father was just a young man of 18 years of age. He was stationed in Subic Bay as an M.P. at the time, but he happened to be on leave in Baguio during the time of the mission. As soon as explosions and gunfire were heard, chaos ensued. In the confusion, my father ran into Master Chief, Sergio Tacchini, who quickly took my father under his wing for the day.

Even though my father never had the same training that Chief Tacchini's men did, he performed like a veteran.

They fought all day long in the small city, and eventually, they were pinned down in a schoolhouse. They were running out of ammo, of time, and most importantly, out of men. The teams had started the raid with a total 30 men. By nightfall, only 8 were left.

At around 2200 hours, the firing on both sides stopped. One reason was because the soldiers on my father's side were completely out of ammunition. The other is because the terrorists were engaging; approaching the school.

The Chief then said to the men, "Guys…I'm sorry for sending all of you to your death beds. I'll see you all in hell."

My father then said back, "Chief, I'm sorry, but I won't be seeing you just yet. You didn't send me to my death; you sent me to my destiny."

Of course, the other guys just chuckled and laughed it off, but my father was serious. He had found a bow and a quiver of arrows under one of the floor boards, and he was ready to use it. He then exited the room alone, much to the surprise of his comrades.

It only took a few minutes, but when the screams of dying men ended, the 7 other men were still alive, while the terrorists had met their fate.

Chief Tacchini always described the sight he saw in the tropical moonlight that morning: It was a man who was desperate to live. He saw, in my father's eyes, that he wasn't ready to die yet; something much greather was to be done before he left.

He was covered in blood; the quiver of arrows was empty. With a Chinese straight edge in hand, and the head of Ahmed Hussein Mohammed Ali's second in command in his other, my father smiled in the moonlight, as if he were happy to kill. Like he enjoyed the dripping of blood on his face...

* * *

"After that," Percival sighed, "My father served in the Green Berets until he retired from combat duty in 2000, and became involved in the U.S.P." (Note: U.S.P – United Special Forces Program: A (fictional) Program started by the USA and China during the late 1990's which was created to unite the special forces or secret service units from major world powers. Their intent was to have secret and powerful allies against the growing powers of The United Kingdom's secret agency, The British Library, and her allies. More info later.) 

"And now he runs the program." Jean said, fully engrossed, "What a career…"

"After all that's happened to him, he's still 'father-of-the-year' type material. Doesn't really care what we do, as long as we enjoy doing it." Percival added, "He quite the guy."

"I can't wait to meet him." Rico chimed in.

"I'm sure you'd love him," Percival said, "Major General Bradley P. Nowell will be here in two days."

* * *

_This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to an event or person, living or deceased, is purely coincidental._


	2. Chapter One: The General

_Note about military time: Many of you are familiar with the "24 hour" format used by the military, but incase you don't… Just take the first two numbers, subtract 12, and you get your hour. Times past 1200 hours are in the PM, and times before 1200 hours are AM. Example: 2155 hours would be the equivalent of 9:55PM. Got it? Great! On to chapter 1!_

_REMEMBER: Always assume that all characters are speaking fluent Italian unless stated otherwise._

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

_**Chapter One: The General**_

**_Rome Fiumicino Leonardo Da Vinci Airport, Rome, Italy; 1920 hours, June 13, 2005_**

The traffic in and around the airport was surprisingly light; moving to and fro from the parking lot to the arrivals gate was relatively fast, especially considering that it was near vacation time for most Italians and Europeans.

The sharply dressed Jose checked his watch for the seventh time while sitting at a café table in the waiting area for the arrivals.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his black gloved hand.

"Is something wrong, Jose?" The little girl sitting across the table asked him. She casually sipped on a small glass of iced tea that Jose had bought her earlier.

He studied her face with a rare look of which had no emotion. "Nothing's wrong, Henrietta," He assured her, "I'm just wondering what type of man Major General Nowell is. Not to mention that their flight is running a little bit late."

"Percy said he was very nice."

"Percy?" Jose asked, raising an eyebrow.

Henrietta nearly spat out her tea, "I-I mean, Lt. Nowell." She recovered. "Lt. Nowell said to call him 'Percy' though, so I thought…"

"Well," Jose said, "If he says it's ok to call him by that name, then you're free to do so, Henrietta."

"Yes sir." She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin.

"I know what Lt. Percival said about The General, and I even took it upon myself to research his background," Jose explained, "but that was just reports on paper, and a son talking about his father; both descriptions are nothing compared to the real thing…"

Henrietta nodded, not fully understanding what Jose was talking about, but still grasping the concept of his words.

"Look," Jose pointed with his thumb to his direct left, "Here they come."

Henrietta turned to her right. Past the crowds and various kiosks, she spotted a thin and slender woman, dressed in a U.S. Army Officer's uniform. Her Olive skirt was perfectly trimmed at three inches above the floor. Her gold belt buckle was superbly polished, almost appearing like a small mirror. On her blouse, she carried several medals and a few ribbons. On both ends of her collar were silver bars with 3 black squares lined up within the bars, indicating her rank of Chief Warrant Officer 3rd class. Henrietta took a closer look at her face. She was Japanese, her face having that soft oriental complexion; the shape of her head was near almond or teardrop. Her hair, covered mostly by the regulation Officer's cap, was as dark black as Jose's suit. It was solid, but every strand could still be seen. Almost perfect, in Henrietta's eyes.

Henrietta then studied the man to the woman's left. In a brisk pace walked a tall, heavy-middle built man, fully dressed in U.S. Army Officers uniform. On both sides of his olive-drab collar were two silver stars, indicating the distinguished rank of Major General. His hat carried the same number of stars. The abundance of medals and ribbons on the left breast of his uniform almost made Henrietta feel uneasy; the man had clearly accomplished much more than Jose and she put together. His face was clean shaven, the hair peeking out from the sides of his hat was dark brown with scattered strands of silver. His strong chin gave him an aggressive look, yet his facial expression appeared as soft and delicate as Jose's, if not more so. It was no wonder her Jose was a little withdrawn today. The way this man carried himself, as well as his bags, had pride written all over. He held his head high, not straining to hold his bags up, not looking around like a lost tourist. It was as if he was ready for business.

There was also one more thing that stood out about the man; his eyes were an intense emerald in color, not like the faded green that Percy has. It was almost hypnotic to Henrietta; never had she seen a color so pure that wasn't artificial. She felt that she could stand there all day just gazing upon those eyes…

"Let's go, Henrietta." Jose interrupted her little daydream.

They both stood from their seats and walked over to the two officers. Jose greeted them, already knowing that both Officer's spoke Italian fluently.

"Good evening, Major General. Good Evening, Ma'am. My name is Jose, and I shall be your escort today." He extended his had out to the General. "We hope the airport security gave you no trouble about your firearms."

The General put his bags down and shook Jose's hand rather fiercely. He smiled as he did so.

"No trouble at all," The man said, "I'm Major General Bradley Nowell, and this is my secretary and assistant, Chief Warrant Officer Rei Ayanami."

Jose took The Female Officer's hand, and shook it lightly.

"Nice to meet you ma'am." He said. "My name is Jose."

Rei received Jose's hand, but did not give a warm reply, but instead a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

"And who's this little one?" Bradley asked, rubbing the top of Henrietta's head.

"Her name's 'Henrietta'," Jose said. He then lowered his voice to a slight whisper, "She's my…'partner'."

"I see." The General said, "Nice to meet you, Henrietta."

"It's nice to meet you too, sir." Henrietta replied.

"Well then," Jose said, satisfied with the introductions, "Shall we head on to the Agency?"

"Yes," Bradley agreed, "We're running late."

_**On the road to the Social Welfare Agency  
**_

The evening Italian atmosphere was one that General Nowell was accustomed to. He had been to Rome countless times, not to mention he spent part of his honey-moon here. For him, it was the usual, almost as if he had lived here before.

Famous landmarks and tourist attractions such as the Coliseum and the Pantheon and various nightclubs and bars near the urban area were all ablaze with activity; a great example of the contrast between ancient Rome and modern day Italy.

Rei had never been to Italy before, so every sight was something to behold. There she sat, next to Henrietta, in a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter; looking out the window like a child about to enter an amusement park for the first time.

"Is this your first time in Italy, Officer?" Jose asked, noticing the look of wonder painted on her face.

"Yes it is." She replied in a soft sigh.

"I'm sure you're going to love it here. Rome is absolutely beautiful during the summer."

"I'm sure it is." She sighed.

"Maybe after your business here is done, I could show you around?" Henrietta's ears burned and Jose said this. Her eye's narrowed as she turned to face the female Officer, almost as if to challenge her. Rei paid no attention; instead, she kept her eyes on the glowing lights that passed by.

"That would be nice." Rei said in a near whisper.

"Unfortunately, we have no time for that." Bradley butted in, "Are you not aware of the SWA's situation, Agent?"

Jose was taken aback by The General's sudden change in mood. "No, sir, that's classified information to me. I haven't the authorization to-,"

"Well I'll be damed…," The General interrupted, "Are you saying that Chief Lorenzo hasn't briefed you on ANYTHING that's going on?"

Jose nervously cleared his throat, "No, General, I wasn't told anything except that you are my charge until I get you back to the Agency."

"So nobody told you about the condition that the SWA is in? Do you not know that, as of last Monday, the SWA has no means of support?"

"Sir?" Jose questioned.

"Agent, let me explain something to you." The General said, "And I am authorizing this leak of information." He signaled toward Rei, who in turn, retrieved various sheets of paper from within her briefcase and began to write. "About a year ago, Chief Lorenzo sent a message to the Italian government, asking for an increase in the Social Welfare Agency's yearly funding; it is expensive technology you people are dealing with, after all. Unfortunately, Lorenzo was denied."

Jose sat still, trying to concentrate on the road as the old man spoke.

"Not only was he denied," The General continued, "But he was given an ultimatum: to either prove to the Italian Government that the Social Welfare Agency, namely Section Two, was worth the financial backing, or to have financial support cut off from the Government. He was given one year."

Jose did not move his head, but instead gripped the steering wheel tighter; he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"This is where we come in." The General continued, "Lorenzo sent out a plea to the U.S.P. for help exactly six days ago; one day after the Italian Government deemed the SWA too expensive to keep in operation, and all funding from the Italian Government was cut. We at the U.S.P., on the other hand, have been interested in the SWA since its formation, and after reviewing several records of successful missions that you and other agents and cyborgs have accomplished, we decided to send inspectors over to witness firsthand what goes on within the SWA. If you hadn't guessed by now, those inspectors are my son, Officer Ayanami, and myself."

Jose cleared his throat, "So what you're saying is… is that if we don't live up to your standards, we're on our own? What'll happen then?"

"That's not my problem." Bradley shrugged his shoulders, "If you pass inspection, all technology and property of the Social Welfare Agency will become U.S. Government property, and all personnel can become citizens of the U.S. if they choose to. Fail the inspection, and the SWA dissolves and disappears from the face of the earth, unless Lorenzo can garner up some sort of alternate funding."

Jose cleared his throat once again, not knowing how else to respond to what he just heard. The Social Welfare Agency, his reason for being, was in trouble. Most importantly, the future of Henrietta and the other cyborgs was unknown.

"I'll need to you sign these release forms, Agent," Officer Ayanami said from the back seat, waving several sheets of papers next to Jose's head, "Failure to do so will result in your immediate termination."

**_Social Welfare Agency, Near Rome, Italy; 2000 hours, same day_**

"So what should I expect from The General?" Jean asked as he, Percival and Rico stood in the parking lot of the SWA.

"As long as you treat him with respect, you won't get into too much trouble." Percival checked his pocket watch. "Remember: with him, respect is earned, not given." He then adjusted the sleeves of his uniform.

During the past two days, Jean and Percival grew to become the best of friends; it was as if they had known each other for their entire lives. Since Percival was off duty during the past two days, Jean had shown him around Rome, going sight-seeing and bar hopping. Like old college friends, they nearly painted the town red. But due to Jean and Percival's strict discipline, they stopped themselves early before anything serious had happened. They also found that they both had many things in common: cars, music, clothes, sunglasses, they had many things to talk about during their free time.

Rico, Henrietta and the other cyborgs at the Agency also took a liking to Percival. Usually, during lunchtime, Percival would tell them stories of the various antics that he and his brothers and sisters were involved in when he was at a younger age. It was almost as though Percival had become an uncle to the cyborgs, something that he was already used to with his real nephews and nieces. He even allowed the cyborgs the use of his nickname "Percy", which only close family and friends were allowed to use.

"Anything else I should know about?" Jean asked, adjusting his tie and his sunglasses as he asked.

"He doesn't like brown-nosing." Percival smiled, "So try to keep off that for a while."

"Not funny."

"He also doesn't like people who wear sunglasses at night. He says it makes them look like no-good thugs." Percival laughed out loud as Jean pocketed his thousand dollar pair of sunglasses.

"Now, now you two," Lorenzo emerged from the shadows and into the dim streetlamp that Jean, Percival and Rico stood underneath, "This certainly isn't the time to be joking around."

"Yes sir!" Both Jean and Percival stated.

"I'm sure Major General Nowell will be a fair and just man." Lorenzo said, "If he is as how you describe him, Lieutenant."

"My father didn't raise a liar, Chief." Percival retorted.

"I think they're here." Rico interrupted, using her keen hearing abilities to pinpoint the location of the incoming van.

Just around the corner of the parking-lot archway entered the silver Mercedes-Benz Sprinter minivan. The halogen headlights momentarily blinded Jean and Percival, forcing them to shield their eyes.

As the van pulled up next to where the four were standing; Percival immediately stood at perfect attention. His heart raced as the passenger door slid open, revealing the man he had been expecting for the past two days.

"Attention!" Percival exclaimed, repositioning his stance and saluting, while Jean and Rico did the same. Lorenzo hesitated for a split-second; it had been a while since he had saluted to a higher ranking officer, so it was natural for him to have to think about his actions. Needless to say, The General had caught that mistake.

"Chief Lorenzo, I presume?" The General asked as he stepped out of the vehicle. He towered over the Chief, standing a good three or four inches above him.

"Yes, General!" Lorenzo shouted.

"Take it easy, Lorenzo, I can hear you." Bradley smiled and saluted to Lorenzo, Percival, Jean and Rico, enabling them to return their hands to their sides.

"I thank you for taking the time to come here, General." Lorenzo extended his hand.

"We'll see if this Agency is worth my time." He received his hand and gave a firm handshake. He then signaled for Officer Ayanami, who was busy collecting documents that Jose had just signed, to stand by his side. "This is Chief Warrant Officer Rei Ayanami, my assistant."

"Sir!" Rei saluted to Lorenzo, who returned the salute.

"Nice to meet you Officer." Lorenzo said, shaking her hand as he did so. Like with Jose, Rei only responded by making a soft "mmm" sound of acknowledgement. Lorenzo turned his attention to the man standing beside him. "This is Agent Jean, and his cyborg 'Rico'. They're one of the best Fratello in the Agency."

"Siblings, huh?" Bradley scratched his chin, "An odd name for such a team."

"But it definitely fits the situation." Jean extended his hand to The General.

"Indeed it does," Bradley received Jean's hand, "Interesting name for a little girl. I'm sure you get criticized a lot about your choice for her name."

"Actually, I do." Jean was surprised that The General had known that little fact.

Bradley turned his attention to the man standing next to Jean.

"And how have you been?" The General asked his son, "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"2 years and counting." Percival said, "It has been a long time, General." He looked over his father's shoulders and gazed at Rei. "Too long…" Percival became silent as his eyes came in contact with hers. Almost immediately, they both blushed like school children kissing for the first time.

"Ahem," Bradley interrupted. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get some R & R. You know… jet lag and all…"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Percival snapped out of his trance.

"Henrietta and I will show you Officer Ayanami's and your quarters, General." Jose Interrupted.

"Rico and I will accompany you as well." Jean said, "Rico, get The General's and The Officer's bags."

"Yes sir." She obeyed. Immediately she approached the van and retrieved all eight of Bradley's and Rei's suitcases and duffel bags without any sort of struggle.

"Impressive." Bradley commented, "So this is the handy work of the Italian Government…."

"If you'll excuse me, General," Lorenzo spoke, "I have paperwork I need to attend to. I'll report back to you in the morning."

"Inspection starts at 0700 hours, Lorenzo," Bradley said, "Have Chief Dragi and all of Section One, as well as Section Two and yourself assembled and ready. Remember what we're here for."

"Yes, General." Lorenzo saluted and then made his way into a distant building to the north.

"Henrietta," Jose called out to the girl, "Lead the way."

"Yes sir." Henrietta motioned for Bradley and Rei, "This way please."

As she led the way through the winding halls and court yards of The Social Welfare Agency, she couldn't help but notice that Percy and Rei were always close together, oftentimes whispering in each other's ear's and laughing amongst themselves. What was odd was that it seemed as though The General were allowing this to happen; he certainly wasn't acting like the gruff man he was when they were in the car.

Upon reaching Officer Ayanami's room, which was the building west of the cyborg dormitory, she interrupted Percy and Rei's "petting".

"Excuse me, ma'am," She said, "This is your quarters." She pointed towards a door to her left.

"P.T. begins at 0500 hours." Bradley said to both Rei and Percival.

"Yes, General!" They responded.

"I can take these from here, Rico." Percival said, taking four of the bags from Rico's shoulders.

"Yes sir." She acknowledged.

"Now then," The General smiled, "Henrietta, please lead me to my room."

Although Henrietta wondered why Percy was acting the way he was, not to mention why he was not returning to his own quarters but instead was entering Rei's, she thought it best not to question the actions of her superiors.

"This way, General." She said, leading him a little further down the hall. She then stopped in front of a set of double doors, elaborately decorated with carvings of Roman gods and goddesses. "This is your room, General."

"Rico, put The General's belongings inside." Jean commanded.

"Yes sir." Rico replied.

"Just set them anywhere," Bradley said, "I'll handle everything else."

"Yes sir."

"Permission to speak freely, General?" Jose asked.

"Granted." Bradley said.

"I have a question to ask before you rest, General."

"Yes, what is it?"

"Why did you allow Lt. Percival, your son, to… enter Officer Rei's quarters?" Jose asked, "Isn't that sort of… against the rules? Taboo?"

The General laughed, "I must have neglected to mention this," He wiped a tear from his eye, "Rei is Percival's fiancée. They haven't seen each other in two years. Rei and I were in Afghanistan and Israel, while Percival was in Korea and Taiwan."

"I see." Jose said. Henrietta breathed a gigantic sigh of relief. In her mind, she saw Rei as a threat to Jose's and her relationship, but now that she knew that Rei was dedicated to another man, that threat was no longer there.

"Put two and two together, Agents." Bradley whispered to Jose and Jean, "They're young, they haven't seen each other in years, and they're in Rome. What do you think will happen?"

The two brothers simply looked at each other as if to say "What the hell?". They found The General's casual attitude toward this specific subject a bit out of place.

"I'm not heartless, Agents, I know what it's like to be seperated from a loved one for a long time. Just let them be for now."

"Yes, General" The brothers responded.

"Inspection begins at 0700." Bradley changed the subject, "Gentlemen. Ladies. Goodnight."

With that said, Major General Nowell shut the door behind him as Jean and Jose escorted their partners to their room.

_**End Chapter One**_

_**Coming soon:**_

_**Chapter Two: Inspections (Part 1)**_


	3. Chapter Two: Inspections Part 1

_Note: I'm glad many of you are enjoying my story so far. I'm sorry if it seems a bit too slow, but that's what I was going for since it is the introduction chapters._

_I feel like a moron for not mentioning this before, but "P.T." is short for "Physical Training". _

_Enjoy Chapter 2._

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Two: Inspections (Part 1)_**

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Officer Ayanami's Quarters, Rome, Italy; 0430 hours, June 14, 2005_**

She awoke to an invigorating smell. It was the smell of bliss; sweet nectar and ambrosia mixed together into one aroma. Some would say that this particular scent was rank and musky, like the smell of a used shirt, but to her it was an aphrodisiac.

She opened her eyes to find the source of the scent. She became disappointed that her fiancé was not next to her, but instead already changing into his P.T. gear. Rising from her bed, she sat at the edge and studied Percival's every move.

"Have you been getting up at this time since you came here?" She asked in her native Japanese tongue.

"Of course I have." He replied in the same language, "You know how hard it is for me to break old habits."

"Like your annoying nail biting? Or when you crack your knuckles? Or when you scratch your nose when you get embarrassed? Or the way you sometimes moan in your sleep? Or your constant smoking?"

"Damn…" Percival sighed, "And you've put up with all that?"

"I like 'fixer-uppers'." She coyly responded.

"Right…" Percival sarcastically shot back, "Its 4:40, time to get dressed for P.T."

_**later**_

Since Bradley and Rei were unfamiliar with the layout of the Agency, Percival had to lead both of them for their ten mile run. The brothers, Jean and Jose, and their respective cyborgs joined them in their morning jog; Jean having gotten used to running in the morning with Percival, and Jose trying to establish that habit into his daily routine. Another pair tagged along as well. These two were new faces to Bradley and Rei: one was another Agent of the SWA named Marco. The other was an innocent looking 12 year old girl named Angelica, and was the third cyborg that Bradley and Rei have met since their arrival in Italy.

Bradley took notice of Angelica's stamina as they passed the five mile mark. Unlike Rico, who apparently had the strength of twenty or thirty men, Angelica was breathing as rapidly as he was.

"Angelica, are you all right?" The General asked.

"Yes, General, I'm fine." She responded. "Why do you ask, sir?"

"It's just that…" He hesitated a bit, then decided against reporting his observation, "Never mind; forget I even asked."

"Give her a few days, and she will." Marco grumbled from behind.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bradly asked, spinning around and running backwards to face the bearded Agent.

"Angelica has a small problem with her conditioning," Marco huffed, "The slightest injury can wipe her short term memory clean."

"And what have you done about it?" Bradley asked.

"Me, General?"

"Yes you, Agent." Bradley shot back, "You are her handler, am I right?"

"Yes I am, General." Marco replied, "But there's nothing that I can do, outside of re-training her over and over again." He shot a look of disgust toward Angelica, who was trailing the group.

"It's no use anyhow, General." Jean interrupted, "He's getting a replacement cyborg in a few weeks."

"And what happens to Angelica?" Bradley asked the man beside him.

"We have her discarded," Jean said loud enough for the three cyborgs to hear, almost as if he did so purposefully, "They're nothing more than tools, General. They're easily replaced when need be."

"Tools… I think not, Jean, tools don't talk back." Bradley returned his attention to Marco, "Have you given up on Angelica already, Agent Marco?"

Marco didn't respond. He looked at the girl that struggled to stay by his side.

"I see…." Bradley turned around and resumed jogging normally. "I don't like quitters, Agent Marco. Quitters get the rest of the team killed."

_**The Social Welfare Agency: Cafeteria, Rome, Italy; 0659 hours, Same Day**_

A gathering of nearly 300 male and female agents of the SWA, including the ten cyborgs, anxiously waited for the arrival of Major General Nowell and his small entourage. With the exception of Chief Lorenzo, Jean, Jose, Marco, Henrietta, Rico, and Angelica, everyone whispered amongst themselves. Most wondered why they were at work so early in the morning. Others wondered what type of person This "V.I.P." was, and what was he going to do here.

As the clock struck 0700 hours, the double doors of the cafeteria swung open; in marched the heavily decorated Major General with a Lieutenant at his left, and a Chief Warrant Officer at his right. Each officer carried their own electronic tablet.

Instantly anyone in the room hushed to a dead silence, staring at the Major General with inquisitive eyes.

"Attention!" Lt. Nowell shouted directly at the Agents.

The entire room obediently rose to their feet and saluted to the three officers.

Major General Nowell positioned himself in the very front and center of the cafeteria, where he could see every face in the room. He saluted to the Agents, giving them permission to return their hands to their sides.

"Good morning everyone." Bradley started. "I am Major General Bradley Nowell of the U.S. Army. To my left is Lt. Percival Nowell, my son. To my right is Chief Warrant Officer Rei Ayanami, my assistant. I can see that you all are adamantly devoted to your work and ready for inspection."

A sudden wave of whispers and gossip spread throughout the room like wildfire. The words that came from all the Agent's lips were not pleasing to Bradley's ears. His blood nearly boiled, but years of martial arts and mental training kept him from doing so.

"Those of you, who know exactly why Lt. Nowell, Officer Ayanami, and I are here," He asked above the noise of whispers, "raise you rright hand."

A small trickle of less than a tenth of the entire room raised their hands.

Bradley counted the hands in his head, _"Only 20 people know… what the hell...?"_

Bradley turned to Officer Ayanami and whispered something inaudible, and foreign from any Agents ears. She nodded her head and began writing on her tablet.

"Chief Dragi, Chief Lorenzo, may I speak to your for a moment?" Bradley signaled for them to come over to where he stood.

Both Chiefs seemingly teleported in front Bradley, eager to please the Major General, and stood at perfect attention. This sort of behavior coming from Dragi was unheard of to Lorenzo, but in these circumstances, he could see the logic to it.

"Why is it that damn near nobody knows about our little visit?" Bradley growled.

"This is top secret, General," Dragi explained, "We felt that nobody, other than reliable Agents, needed to know about this."

"I understand that certain information needs to be kept buried, Dragi," The Major General stood face to face with the Chief, "But something as severe as this, something that affects everyone employed by the Agency, should not be kept secret. The Social Welfare Agency was a government organization, but as of last week the SWA became a private organization. The perks that came with their jobs are no longer available to them. What are you going to tell them come next payday?"

Both Chiefs stood there, dumbfounded, and utterly destroyed by their amateurish mistake.

"How much funding does the Agency have left until it dissolves?" Percival asked from behind his father.

"If we continue regular spending at the current rate," It was Lorenzo's turn to speak, "We'll last for 3 more weeks."

"Jesus, Maria, and Joseph…" The General took the words right out of Percival's mouth, "If it were up to me, this circus would have been crossed off the list of potential U.S.P. candidates at this moment, but my peers have taken a liking to your activities. You should be thankful for that. Remember that without your Agents, you two are nothing. Consider yourselves lucky that I am bound by my duty, gentlemen, and that I've come here to do my job."

"Yes, General!" Both Chiefs responded.

"I would suggest that you find some way to inform your Agents about our visit, gentlemen. For the few days that I am here, you should watch what you and your agents are doing, because it's only been a few hours since I've arrived and you're already on my bad side." He turned to Lorenzo, "Especially Section Two, Chief Lorenzo. So far, two of your agents have proved unsatisfactory to my standards. Additionally, even though your Agents' and cyborgs' combat and mission records are impressive, your Section's uninhibited spending on research and development on cybernetic augmentations is what brought you to your current position. I hate to say it, Chief, but it's mostly your fault that Italy left The Social Welfare Agency to rot away."

Dragi stood firm as Lorenzo looked as though he were shot through the heart. He felt empty inside, not only because he had been insulted, but also because everything that Bradley had said was true.

"You two are dismissed." Bradley finished, sending the two leaders back to their original positions.

The General looked at the curious eyes on each face of the SWA. "Inspection has begun, ladies and gentlemen. But before you start your work, I believe Chief Dragi and Chief Lorenzo have something to say to all of you."

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Section One Office, Rome, Italy; 1150 hours, Same Day_**

"Excellent," Bradley said to a nervous and sweaty Agent Fermi of Section One, "Looks like everything is in good order, Agent. Section One is definitely well organized. Your hardware and software are up-to-date; your Agents are familiar with the new programs; and files that date to the beginning of the SWA are easily accessible. So far so good, Agent, we're nearly half-way done with the inspection of Section One, and I'm satisfied with everything that I've seen." The General looked around the room, noticing the effort that each Agent was putting into their work. It reminded him of a beehive.

"Thank you, General!" Fermi exclaimed.

"You have no one to thank but your fellow Agents, Fermi." He took a quick glance at his silver Tag-Heuer wristwatch, noticing that it was nearly 1200 hours. "Shall we take a short break before we move on to the armory?"

"Yes of course, General!" Fermi replied, "Do you prefer that I take you to a restaurant or would you like something quicker for lunch? McDonald's perhaps?"

"I think I'll dine at the cafeteria, I have no time to waste." Bradley turned to his son and Rei, who were both busy examining several stacks of papers and taking notes on their electronic tablets. "Lead the way, Lieutenant."

"Yes, General." Percival said as he and Rei stood at attention.

They exited the office and entered the wide, moderately decorated hallways of the Section One building.

"Well then, General, I'll meet you back here in an hour." Fermi then saluted to the three Americans and re-entered the office.

"You hungry?" Percival asked, speaking to Rei in Japanese.

"Yes," Rei said in the same language, "I'm starving. The General didn't even give us enough time to eat breakfast this morning." She leered at the old man that stood next to her.

"You could have asked for a break." Bradley said in Japanese as he took off his hat, a secret "signal" that only Percival and Rei were aware of, allowing them to speak as freely they wished. "You know I won't bite your head off if you ask."

"Heh," Percival slipped a cigarette into his lips, "Let's go, dad, my kids are probably waiting for me."

"Then we'd better hur-, wait, what did you just say?" Rei asked as Percival lit his cigarette.

_**At the SWA**__** cafeteria**_

Upon entering the cafeteria, Rei noticed that there were several young boys were sitting together at the very center of the room. She assumed that they were all cyborgs of Section two.

One of them, a young, fair skinned boy, stood at the edge of his seat, waving excitedly and yelling out, "Hey Percy! Over here!" His hair was a visual salad of black and white, almost unnatural in appearance.

"Hey there, Baldo," Percival waved back, "I'll be there in a minute."

"Is that one of your 'kids'?" Rei spoke in Japanese so that nobody near them would understand.

"Yeah," Percival smiled, "His name is 'Baldasarre'."

"What an odd name." Rei thought aloud. "Are they-?"

"Cyborgs of Section Two?" Percival finished her question, "Yeah, all of them are."

After the threesome retrieved a lunch platter containing turkey ravioli, a small side salad, a glass of juice, and a slice of garlic bread, they sat down at the same table where the boys were busy chatting away, something about how hot Rei was.

Percival immediately began introductions, silencing the boys.

"Dad, Rei, these are my boys." He started, "That tall one with the black and white mop on his head is Baldasarre, but we like to call him 'Baldo'. As you can tell from his Hugo-Boss outfit, he's very fashion savvy. Makes me question his sexual preference, though…."(Note: "Baldo" is the Croatian equivalent of "Baldasarre")

"Hey!" Baldo snorted, "Beneditto makes me wear this stuff!" The black, double breasted jacket he wore was unbuttoned, revealing the solid black tie clipped in place onto the white dress shirt underneath. His matching trousers were neatly ironed in all the correct places and were topped off with a black leather belt with silver buckle.

"Sure he does," Said a smug Percival, "The blondie next to him is named Dario."

"Pleased to meet you." The pale faced boy smiled as he greeted Bradley and Rei. He casually wore dark blue jean shorts that were almost as long as normal jeans, black basketball shoes, and a black t-shirt. His hair was messy and tangled, appearing as though he had just risen out of bed.

"To his left, the tall one with the black cotton ball for hair is called Ignazio." Percival continued, "He's able to control his body temperature, which why he's dressed like that."

"Greetings." He waved to them with a gloved hand. He dressed in unusually warm clothing: a dark grey turtle neck, black jeans that appeared as though there was another pair worn underneath, wool lined black leather boots, and extremely dark, black sunglasses. His dark brown skin was barley visible underneath all the articles of clothing.

"Ahead of Nacho is the silent one, Renaldo." Percival pointed to another blonde haired boy. (Note: "Nacho" is the Spanish nickname for the name "Ignacio", which is the Spanish equivalent to "Ignazio". And yes, Spanish is one of the many languages that Percival and Bradley speak :P)

"Hi." Renaldo said. His clothes, as well as his posture, were more relaxed compared to the others. The fair skinned, sleepy faced boy wore a pair of brown leather strapped and rubber soled flip-flops, blue basketball shorts, and a white tank-top. His head was covered by a faded blue baseball cap that appeared as though it would fall apart at any given moment.

Bradley shook his head and blinked several times; he swore to himself that he saw sleep bubbles escaping the top of the boy's head.

"And last, but not least," Percival pointed to a brown haired, fair skinned boy, "Next to Naldo, we have Enzo." (Note: "Naldo" is the nickname given to anyone with a name ending in "-naldo".)

"Good afternoon." He said. His clothes resembled Baldo's, sans the sport jacket and tie. His white dress shirt was crisp and neatly tucked into his black trousers, supported by a black leather belt with gold buckle.

"Nice to meet you all," Bradley said, "I'm Major General Bradley Nowell, but just call me 'General'."

"I'm Chief Warrant Officer Rei Ayanami." She plainly said.

"Well now…," Baldo slithered his way next to where Rei sat, "Good afternoon, Miss Rei," He took her hand and gently kissed it, "You look absolutely ravishing today."

Rei was visibly unimpressed with Baldo's sad attempt to woo her. The other boys took note and laughed amongst themselves.

"Dammit, Baldo," Enzo spoke, "You couldn't charm your way out of a jewelry box. What makes you think you can get a beautiful woman like Officer Ayanami to fall for you?"

Rei was now visibly flattered at Enzo's statement about her; an action that Angered Baldo. In retaliation, Baldo threw a balled up napkin at Enzo's face.

"Quiet you!" He barked.

"I thought you said you hated girls, Baldo?" Nacho asked.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no!" Baldo slid his way over to Nacho and flicked his nose, "That is where your lack of grammatical skills fails you, my friend!" Baldo pointed to his own head, "I **LOATHE **girls. However…," He snaked his way back to Rei, "I admire mature women; Officer Ayanami is a flawless example of the fine work of Mother Nature."

"Ahem," Percival cleared his throat, "Don't act like that in front of The General. And besides, Rei happens to be my fiancé."

The mixed look of shock, awe, and sadness appeared on Baldo's face. Utterly defeated; the boy shuffled his way back to his seat.

"The loud one amuses me," Bradley commented, "What's your name again?"

Baldo's eyes lit up. He swung his butter knife to and fro, making "hi-yaa" and grunting noises as he did so, finishing his weird display by posing on his chair. "My name is Baldasarre Da Vinci; named after the Wise man: Balthazar, and the Renaissance man: Leonardo Da Vinci; THEREFORE I am easily THE best amongst my peers! Mwahahahahaha!"

The other boys simply shook their heads, both in disappointment and embarrassment.

"Baldo!" Percival warned, "Not in front of The General!"

"It's all right." Bradley smiled, "He reminds me of you when you were his age."

"My, my…," Baldo grinned, "How the tables have turned." He sat down and rested his chin on the palm of his hands, acting like a schoolchild. "Tell us more, General!"

"Before I do that," Bradley said, "Tell me why a boy like you has no interest for girls his own age?"

Blado retreated back into his chair; a look of shame painted on his face. The other boys snickered at Baldo's current mood.

"What's so funny?" Bradley asked.

"Well, General," Dario said through a laugh, "When Baldo first came here, he tried to get all the girls to be his girlfriend. As you can tell, he was rejected by every single one of them."

"Tell him about the time Rico denied him!" Enzo suggested.

"No, the one where Henrietta rejected him was better!" Nacho said.

"Yeah right, Rico shot him down like a duck on the first day of hunting season!" Enzo barked.

"Henrietta broke him down like a tower of building blocks!" Nacho growled back.

"Tell The General about Rico!" Enzo pleaded with Dario.

"No! Tell him about the time with Henrietta!" Nacho pushed Enzo out of Dario's way.

"You better not say a word, Dario, or I'll-" Baldo began.

"Enough!" Percival interrupted, "Can't you see we have guests here!"

The boys froze in awkward positions: Nacho and Enzo were at each other's throats, Dario was shielding himself with his hands, and Baldo had a knife in one hand and a fork in another, primed and ready to be flung at Dario.

"It's all right, son," Bradley said, "Boys will be boys," He motioned for the 4 boys to sit back down, "Now then. We have an hour before we get back to work; I'm sure we have enough time to hear all of Baldo's failed attempts at obtaining love." Bradley grinned.

Needless to say, Baldo returned to his broken state; curling up to a fetal position on his chair.

"I'd like to hear Renaldo's opinion on this matter," Bradley said, "Which story would you like to hear first, son, the story with Rico or Henrietta?"

The quiet boy sat up in his chair, "Actually…," he began, "The story of Baldo and Elsa is my personal favorite."

Nacho and Enzo had wide grins on their faces, "Ooooooh." Was the sound that same from their lips.

"I take it that this Elsa was the harshest?" Bradly asked Percival.

"I don't know," Percival shrugged, "I've never met her before, and the boys never told me about this."

Baldo shook his head in disapproval, "Not this one…." He groaned.

"Yeah," Dario agreed, "This one happens to involve me, so I'd rather not…."

"Do it for The General." Naldo teased him.

"Just tell it, boy," Percival said, "I'm sure Elsa wouldn't mind since my dad wanted to hear it."

"I hate to say it, Percy," Nacho said, "But Elsa is dead."

"Dead?" Percival questioned.

"Yeah, she was killed while trying to protect her handler, Lauro."

"I see," Percival said, "Then maybe we shouldn't talk about this."

"The best way to remember a friend is to reminisce about them," Bradley stated, "Go on, Dario, and tell us what happened between Baldo and Elsa."

Dario sighed, "The thing is, General," He started, "Elsa wasn't really what you would call 'a friend'..."

* * *

(Dario: narrator) 

**_The Social Welfare Agency, Rome, Italy; 1130 hours, November 5, 2004_**

It was the morning of Baldo's 5th day at the Social Welfare Agency. He had already been rejected by all the girls, except for Elsa, so in his final attempt at getting a girlfriend, he spruced himself up. You know; a tux, cologne, hair gel, the works. He even had the gall to pick flowers from Claes' garden.

He was nervous, so he asked me to do him a favor and ask Elsa to meet him at the outdoor shooting range at noon.

I, being Baldo's senior by nearly a year, had to oblige, even though I didn't want anything to do with Baldo's love missions.

"Elsa?" I asked after knocking on her door.

"What do you want?" I heard her growl.

"I, uh…" I knew Elsa wouldn't leave her room for any reason, except if it had anything to do with her handler, Lauro, so I fibbed, "Lauro wants to see you at the outdoor range."

Like a bat out of hell, Elsa leaped from her room and dashed down the hall, making her way to the range.

After seeing the way Elsa ran out, I was now curious to see how she would react to find Baldo instead of Lauro, so I followed her.

Upon reaching the range, Elsa completely ignored Baldo and began searching for Lauro.

"It was I who called you to this place," Baldo said in a cheesy manner, "And I would be the happiest man in the world if you and I were to go steady."

A split second later, Baldo was literally flying in the air, eventually landing on a pile of wood about 20 or 30 meters away.

I couldn't help but laugh out loud, and in doing so, Elsa spotted me hiding behind some bushes.

The last thing I remember was being able to see an aerial view of the parking lot before everything went blank.

Baldo and I woke up in the intensive care unit 3 days later.

We both had severe concussions.

* * *

"There, you happy, Naldo?" Dario crossed his arms 

"Yes," Naldo put his cap over his eyes, "Very much so."

"Dammit!" Baldo slammed his fist on the table, "Tomorrow I'll get my revenge!"

"Why, what happens tomorrow?" Bradley asked.

"We're having war games!" Baldo exclaimed, "The girls and their handlers versus **THE** **MEN** and our handlers! We're gonna rip them apart!"

"One thing though," Nacho said, "One of us has to sit out."

"And why's that?" Bradley asked.

"One of the cyborg girls, Claes, doesn't have a handler." Percival said.

"And why not?" Bradley was now intrigued; he began to take notes on his tablet.

"I'm not too sure," Percival said, "Maybe Jean or Chief Lorenzo might know."

Bradley continued taking notes, and making a memo for himself, reminding him to ask Lorenzo about Claes.

"I'll sit out." Naldo said, already half asleep.

"Great!" Baldo said, "You suck anyways!"

_**The Social Welfare Agency: Bradley's Quarters; 2300 hours, Same Day**_

Bradley was thoroughly impressed with Section One's organization, teamwork, and dedication; not a single agent left the room after the announcement of their current standings. Their disciplne was comparable to that of the U.S. Navy S.E.A.L.s or the Army Green Berets. Bradley's peers at the U.S.P. would gladly welcome Section One with open arms.

After typing the report of a successful inspection of Section One's entire portion of the SWA and sending it back to the U.S.P. headquarters via e-mail, Bradley retired to his bed.

He found it troublesome to fall asleep, though; the thought of Claes and her lack of a handler still lingered in his head. He didn't know weather it was Lorenzo's carelessness in realizing that she was just wasted opportunity or if he just pitied the girl; something was bothering him about Claes' position.

Mix those feelings in with the already established disgust toward Section Two and their many flaws, including the handful of agents stepping out of the cafeteria after the dreadful announcement from Lorenzo; Bradley was now a ticking time bomb of anxiety.

"_Tomorrow is gonna be a long day_," He thought to himself.

_**End chapter Two**_

_**Coming soon:**_

_**Chapter Three: Inspection (Part 2)**_

_**

* * *

**

* * *

_


	4. Chapter Three: Inspections Part 2

_Note: Heh… A tiny bit of Bradley's past revealed here. Oh! The excitement!  
_

_It's a long chapter (at least I think it is) so I'll probably scare everyone away with this. It's all good, anyhow, because like my high school history/english teacher and mentor, Greg Bradshaw says, "When you want to get your movies reviewed correctly, get rid of the riff-raff first. That way all the true artisans will stick around 'till the end, and only their opinions truly matter. Not that anyone's opinions should matter to you, but that's a whole 'nother story…."_

_Oh, and about the small stint below: What it's referring to is something that happened in the previous chapter, but was not shown. I tried to make it a bit obvious as to when and where it happened. It's also very short so it won't take much time away from the current chapter, and most of the time it'll be comedic (at least in my eyes...). _

_Think of it as a sort of parody to Colonel Marksman's format/writing style. We've developed a sort of friendly rivalry during the past few days, so this is my little jab to poke fun of him (not in a offensive way, of course).  
_

_Here's Chapter 3. Please be gentle…_

_

* * *

_

Fermi re-entered the Section One offices, just as the three American Officers rounded the hallway corner.

"Ok guys, you can relax now," He announced to the bustling room, "The General's gone."

The air in the room instantly became dense and musky, the result of everyone simultaneously breathing a gigantic sigh of relief at the same moment.

"Jesus Christ!" A random employee gasped for air, "I've never worked so hard in all my life!"

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Three: Inspections (Part 2)_**

**_The Social Welfare Agency: General Nowell's Quarters, Rome, Italy; 0000 hours, June 15, 2005

* * *

_**

(Bradley: First Person)

I sat at the edge of my bed holding my head in my hands. Something in the back of my mind kept gnawing away at my thoughts; something strange and foreboding in feeling. Almost like a supernatural being was trying to escape from within my cranium.

Suddenly the image of my children and my wife flashed before me. For the first time in years, I became homesick. I wanted to leave this place and sleep next to my wife. I wanted to play with my little girls. I wanted to talk to my grown up boys.

"This place is changing you, old man," I said as I fiddled around with my cell phone, "You're turning to a bitch…."

It should be about 6 am in Tokyo; my wife would be up by now.

"Mushimushi, Nowell desu." a soft, angelic voice came from my phone's earpiece.

"Kasumi," I began, "It's me."

"Brad!" She nearly yelled, "Why haven't you called? I was worried about you!" She spoke in English

"I'm sorry, hon, but I didn't have time. You know the deal."

"Yeah, I do." She knew the procedures that I had to go through. After all, Top secret matters aren't in her jurisdiction. "So how's Italy? Is it too hot? It must be 12 o'clock in the morning there. What's the matter?"

"Nothing's wrong." I lied, "I'm just having a small bout of insomnia… how are the kids? Has Nana recovered from her cold yet?" I tried changing the subject.

"She's fine now."

Kasumi and I spent the next hour discussing what had happened during the few days after I left Afghanistan. Weather it was my eldest daughter getting her driver's license, or my youngest son getting dumped by his girlfriend, Kasumi told me everything. Things that normal children should do…

I thought about that girl named Claes. The wasted potential, from what I heard from Percy.

I imagined her as a sad looking girl sitting in her room all day by herself, without anyone to talk to for hours at a time while she could have be doing something useful for the Section Two, besides being a human guinea pig.

I nearly dry heaved at the thought that just came to my head; I actually wished that Claes, this 12 year old girl, would go out and…kill. I remembered that I even scolded Marco for not trying hard enough to get Angelica back into tip-top shape.

And that's when I realized something; I wasn't only worrying about Claes, but about all the cyborgs. It had been under my nose all this time, but now I realize how wrong, how immoral this agency is. It disgusted me to no end.

"Kasumi." I interrupted her.

"What is it?"

"Kasumi I…I gotta go," I lied again, "I… tell the Kids that I love them."

"I will," She responded, "Tell Percival to take care of himself. I love you."

"I love you too…." My voice trailed off.

_**Later**_

After P.T., I returned to my room to change my clothes. My uniform, neatly laid out on my bed, was a wearable record of my achievements during my service in the Army.

A ribbon for serving in Kosovo, another for Iraq, a pair for South Korea and the 37th parallel; these were only a few of the dozens of ribbons that I wore. Each and every one carefully placed into their respective positions.

However, with the war games scheduled for later this afternoon, I decided that fatigues were more appropriate than a crisp, clean uniform.

After slipping into my camouflage, I gazed upon a pair of revolvers that I had placed on top of my dresser. Each was inserted into their respective holsters.

One was a Taurus Raging Bull, chambered for .454 Casull rounds, and modified to have 6 cylinders instead of the regular 5. The other was an Italian made Mateba Model 6 Unica Auto-Revolver, also chambered for .454 Casull rounds. Its semi-automatic mechanism was its most recognizable feature, followed by its barrel resting in front of the bottom cylinder, rather than the top, which gave it significantly less recoil than any other pistol. The pair of "mini howitzers", as my sons would call them, lived up to their nick-names; the recoil on both revolvers would literally force me to take a step back after firing.

Both were given to me by my foster mother before she disappeared into thin air.

I kneeled before firearms and bowed to the floor.

"Master," I whispered, "Please guide me…"

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 1145 hours, June 15, 2005_**

"I must say, Lorenzo," I told the sweaty Section Two Chief as we roamed the training grounds, "You're offices are in an impressive condition comparable to that of Section One. Excellent work."

I knew I hurt Chief Dragi as I said this, but it happened to be the truth. Still, the Section One Chief held his head proudly.

"Thank you, General." Lorenzo nearly bowed to me.

Dragi gave a small "tsk." of disapproval.

"Even so," I heard Rei from behind, "Section Two's offices are significantly smaller than Section One's, which is why you received such a high score. It's also a nothing short of a miracle that the small number of Agents you employ can handle such workloads, especially considering that a dozen of your Agents simply walked out on you yesterday. I don't think that they'll last long, given the current circumstances."

"I agree," Percival said, "The morale of your personnel is very important to any agency, and should be your priority. You should try to improve upon this."

I could tell that Lorenzo's mood suddenly fell into a depressed state, but he kept his posture and continued walking.

As we neared a very dull looking, bullet riddled building; I heard the ever familiar sounds of children chatting amongst themselves. It was as normal as a playground during recess at any middle school.

I felt homesick again.

After Lorenzo had led the four of us inside, the source of the voices was revealed. Inside what looked like a locker room, stood 8 men, and 8 children, fully dressed in gray urban camouflage combat gear.

Curiously, a pair of children and a man sat by themselves near the entrance of the room, dressed in normal civilian clothes. I instantly recognized one of them as "Naldo", the sleepy-head. I assumed that the man was Naldo's Handler, and that the girl reading a nicely sized book was Claes. To my surprise, she appeared neither sad nor depressed, but was rather deeply involved in the book she was reading.

The sight of her enjoying her book around a squad of armed soldiers was rather ghastly. I almost admired her look of ignorance; it was like a beam of light shining through dark clouds.

"General," Lorenzo took my attention away from the girl, "Meet the heart and soul of Section Two."

The soldiers stood at attention and saluted.

"As you were," I said, "I've already met with most of you here, so I'll keep it short. I'm Major General Nowell, I'll be evaluating your performance today; so make sure you do absolute best."

"Yes, General!" They replied, returning to whatever it was they were doing.

"Come this way, General," Lorenzo said, "We'll watch from the observation room. We'll be able to see and hear everything from there."

As Lorenzo led us (a group that now included Claes, Naldo and his Handler) out of the room, I heard a familiar voice shout from behind.

"WE'LL WIN THIS ONE FOR YOU PERCY!" It was Baldo, "I'LL FILL 'EM WITH LEAD-er…PAINT! I'LL FILL 'EM WITH PAINT!"

_**Inside the observation room**_

The observation room was a bit cramped for my tastes; the entire wall ahead was completely filled to the brim with security monitors, a handful of computer chairs were stationed at the control board, and there was barley enough room for me to stand with both arms extended to my sides.

"The objective of this training exercise," Lorenzo spoke through a microphone to the battle ready teams, who received the message through their own headsets, "Is to eliminate the opposing team of 8 in as little time as possible. The setting is a five story office complex. Each team consists of the following Fratello:

In team one, we have: Marco/Angelica, Jean/Rico, Jose/Henrietta, and as team captains, Hillshire/Triela. You will start at the roof of the building.

In team two, we have: Savio/Enzo, Lawrence/Dario, Raffaello/Ignazio, and as team captains, Beneditto/Baldasarre. You will start at the entrance to the first floor.

To make things fair, you each have been equipped M16A1 carbines, modified to fire special neon green paint cartridges. This is a one-hit-kill exercise, so once you have been hit, report to your leader via radio and lay where you are; your equipment will be up for grabs. You each begin with only three 20 round magazines and three flash-bang grenades, so ammo will be scarce. We'll begin in 5." The General nodded at me, as if to expect some sort of praise.

"Is this normal training, or are you putting a show for me?" I asked.

"Well, I," I could tell Lorenzo was caught off guard, "we… have these sort of exercises a few times a month, General. You just happened across one of those times."

"I see."

"I think he's just trying to put on a show for us, General," Percival whispered to me in Japanese, "I don't think this is normal training; it's too expensive and time consuming. I seriously doubt that all 9 active Fratello frequently have the time to train together like this."

"I agree, General," Rei did the same, "but I am curious to see how these cyborgs operate in combat."

"I'd like to see them in action as well. Let Lorenzo have his moment for now."

"Excuse me, General." Lorenzo interrupted, "I don't believe you've met with Aurelio and his cyborg yet."

Lorenzo motioned for the muscular agent to come forward.

""I've met with Naldo yesterday," I said, "but I haven't met with Aurelio." I extended my hand, "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Was all the man said. He challenged me by gripping my hand as tight as possible. I responded by doing the same.

"Quite a grip you have there." I said.

After effectively cracking every knuckle in my hand, Aurelio went back to his seat next to Naldo. I smiled to myself, noticing the grimace he had on his face.

My attention wandered to the girl that sat next to Naldo, still reading her book.

"Hello there," I said as I approached her, "You must be the bookworm, Claes." I extended my tendered hand to her.

The girl closed her book and placed it on her lap, "That I am, General. It's a pleasure to meet you." She received my hand.

"_Her hand's soft,"_ I thought to myself as I examined her hand, _"Not like a soldier's hands. No calluses. No cuts or bruises…."_

"If you don't mind, General," She said, "I'd like to have my hand back, please?"

"Excuse me." I apologized.

"General," Percy called out to me, "The training is about to start."

* * *

(Team two) 

"The layout of the building is pretty simple," Enzo said, "A single staircase on the west side is the only way to get to the upper floors. Each floor, besides the first, has a maze of cubicles in the center, and a set of hallways located at the south and east area. It's a simple office building."

"Ok guys, here's the deal," Beneditto said, "We know their strengths, so we'll have to exploit their weaknesses. Jean and Rico like to stay in the distance; Jose and Henrietta are the stealthy ones, and Hillshire and Triela love to ride shotgun."

"And what about Marco and Angelica?" Savio asked.

"No problems there," Baldo said, "They're the weakest, so we can pick them off at anytime."

"Right," Beneditto agreed, "Chances are they'll be sidelined to the rear. The rest will split up by Fratello. What we're doing is something that nobody would expect. We all split up and engage separately. It's unconventional, but it'll work in this situation."

"Very unconventional," Nacho commented, "I like it. It'll catch them off guard."

"We'll crush them!" Baldo shouted, " Like bugs!"

"Alright then gents," Beneditto cocked his carbine, "Safeties off and check you gear, we move out in one minute."

* * *

(Team One) 

"Rico, how accurate are you without your scope?" Hillshire asked the girl.

"I'm very good without the scope on my Dragunova, sir," She replied, "Using an M16 should have the same results."

"Good, you and Jean provide support for Triela and me from the rear. Jose, you and Henrietta scout ahead for targets. Stay low like always, and report before you engage."

"Understood." Jose said.

"Marco…," Hillshire trailed off. He knew the condition that Angelica was in, so his mind went black when it came to giving them a position.

"We'll provide support for Jean and Rico," Marco said, much to the disappointment of Angelica, "We won't be seeing much action from the rear, so we'll be out of the way."

"Right," Hillshire reluctantly agreed, "Everyone check your gear. We move out in one minute."

* * *

Bradley, Percival, and Rei sat at the helm of the observation room. Lorenzo and Dragi wanted them to have an optimal view of each monitor and, apparently unknown to the Americans, they wanted to peek over their shoulders to read the notes that they were writing on their tablets. 

Much to their dismay, they were writing in Japanese.

"Shall we begin, General?" Lorenzo asked.

"By all means go on ahead, Chief." Bradley replied.

Lorenzo took hold of a microphone installed on the control desk, "This exercise begins in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… NOW!"

Immediately both teams sprung into action, utilizing the plans that they had made before-hand. The flurry of activity was available on every monitor.

In team one, Jose and Henrietta were the first into the building, with the rest of the team sitting put and waiting in place. Seconds later, the rest of team one rushed inside the building, with Jose and Henrietta scouting the rooms ahead.

Team two, however, took a radically different approach. Upon entering the building, each member of the team went their separate ways.

Bradley looked for familiar faces in the hundreds of monitors before him. He saw Baldo helping Enzo climb into an air duct, then running off into another direction. Nacho was sprinting past the security cameras located on the second floor, it was nearly impossible to keep up with him using the stationary cameras.

Dario was caught on the outside cameras of the building scaling the walls, eventually breaking through a window on the 4th floor. He opened fire upon entrance.

A storm of confusion began pouring out of the radio in the observation room.

"Hillshire, this is Jose," He said, "Henrietta and I are down, repeat: Henrietta and I are down."

"I-I made a mistake, Jose," Henrieta began to weep, "I got a little overzealous…."

"It's not your fault, Henrietta," Jose sat on the floor, "I got a little too excited and didn't pace myself."

Bradley focused on one of the security monitors; he saw Dario plucking the equipment off of his victims.

"I got two of them on the 4th floor," Dario was heard saying, "It's Henrietta and Jose, so the rest of the team should be near here or above."

"Everyone head to the 5th floor, pronto! We'll block them off before they can spread out!" Beneditto said, receiving a "Yes sir." from the rest of the team.

"Dammit!" Hillshire was heard saying, "Marco, Angelica front and center now! Jean and Rico move up a little bit and provide better cover for the 4 of us."

Marco and Angelica immediately complied with Hillshire's orders. Upon reaching Hillshire's position, Angelica fired her weapon.

"Cease fire!" Marco said, "What do you think you're doing!"

"I got one!" Angelica nearly screamed for joy, "Marco look!" She pointed straight ahead at a boy getting ready to sit down.

"Good," Hillshire said, "Let's move forward. Jean, Rico, take his equipment."

"Sir Beneditto, I'm down." It was Dario.

"Everyone relocate to the 4th floor!" Beneditto ordered.

Bradley sat at the edge of his seat; such fast paced action could not be observed by sitting back. He listened intently to the radio chatter, and he scanned each monitor for any movement. He was mesmerized by the clockwork actions of each Fratello from team one, and the precision and speed of each member of team two.

"Report your locations!" Beneditto asked. He was located in one of the offices of the 3rd floor.

"I'm at the 4th floor, sir," Savio said, I just got done sweeping the cubicles."

"So am I." Nacho said.

"Lawrence and I are on our way," Rafaello said, "we're on the staircase and just climbed passed the door to the 3rd floor."

"I'm on the staircase at the 5th floor, sir," Baldo said, "Should I engage?"

"Find a hiding place," Beneditto said, "Where's Enzo?"

"I'm already at the 5th floor, sir," Enzo said as he peered through the air ducts, "I can see them. They're on their way down." As team one passed his position, Enzo noticed a body at the far end of the hall way. "Hey Dario," He whispered, "Having fun?"

They boy laughed as Dario raised his middle finger.

"Good, you and Baldo wait for my signal," Beneditto exiting the office to work his way up the building, "We'll flank 'em when the time is right."

Before entering the staircase to head to the 4th floor, Hillshire motioned for his team to halt.

"They're planning something." He said.

"Why do you think that, sir?" Triela asked.

"Dario was alone," Hillshire said, "This doesn't feel right. Everyone split up, and engage separately. We'll play their little game…."

"Roger that." Jean said, leaving first and returning to the roof. Rico headed in the opposite direction and climbed into an air duct. Triela ran forward and disappeared into past the door to the staircase. Marco and Angelica, however, hesitated to move out.

"What are you two doing?" Hillshire asked, "Move out!"

"Roger that, sir," Marco said, "Stay out of trouble, Angelica. It's better that you hide instead of fighting head on with the other team."

"Yes sir." The girl said before running off.

"Something weird is going on," Baldo said, his ear placed on the office door he was hiding behind, "It sounds like they're going off in separate directions…."

"Jean just went back to the roof!" Enzo reported.

"They're on to us!" Beneditto shouted, "Everyone stay where you are and find a place to hide!"

Beneditto flinched as he heard a string gunfire coming from the door ahead of him.

"I'm out," It was Rafaello, "Sorry guys, Triela got me."

"Where's Lawrence?" Beneditto asked.

"I'm out too, sir," Lawrence gasped, "That girl is good."

"Dammit! She's headed in my direction!" suddenly a flash-bang explosion, followed by flurry of gun shots was heard during Beneditto's radio transmission.

"Beneditto?" Baldo called out to his Handler, "What happened? You okay?"

After a moment of silence, Beneditto spoke, "I can't see shit!"

"Beneditto!" Baldo called out again, "What happened?"

"Triela tried to sneak up on him," Nacho reported, "I got her though. Come on, sir; let's get you out of here."

"Regroup at the 3rd floor!" Beneditto ordered. "Enzo stay where you are!"

"Hillshire, they got me." Triela said as she sat down.

"It's all right, Triela." Hillshire said. Another burst of gunfire was heard, this time above from where Hillshire was locatred. "Report!"

"I just took out Enzo," Rico said, "He was in the air ducts on the 5th floor."

"Good job, Rico," Hillshire complemented, "Make sure you get his gear."

"Yes sir."

Each team's plans were now drastically altered. Team two wanted to regroup, while team one tried to spread out; the complete opposite of what each team had planned beforehand.

Back in the observation room, Percival and Rei were furiously writing notes on their tablets. However, this sudden turn of events perked Bradley's interests.

"Lorenzo," The General spoke, still keeping his eyes fixed on the monitors, "Are you sure that you hold this sort of training exercise often? It seems to me that their plans are going awry, almost like they've never encountered something like this before."

"Uh," The Chief began, "I think it's because they're pushing themselves to show off for you, General."

"I see." Bradley continued listening to the conversations on the radio, and watching the action on the monitors.

* * *

(Team two) 

Team two was now regrouped on the 3rd floor of the complex inside an office, just a few feet from where they placed Triela after taking her spare ammo.

"Jesus Christ!" Savio began, "They took out half our guys within minutes, and Beneditto's gone blind! What next!"

"Don't worry," Beneditto said, "We took out their strongest members. Now all we gotta do is hunt for the rest. From Enzo's last report, Jean is back on the roof and Rico is somewhere in the air ducts on the 5th floor. Nacho, you go and take Rico down first, then go hunting for Jean. Make sure to fire into every air vent that you come across."

"Yes sir." Nacho said.

"Triela came from the 4th floor, according to Lawrence and Rafaello's last position. Hillshire should still be up there. Baldo, take him out."

Triela's ears burned as she heard this. A threat to her Handler's safety had been made, but she restrained herself, knowing that she was unable to do anything.

"With pleasure, sir," Baldo said, grinning at Triela, "Revenge is a dish best served cold…."

"Savio and I will look for Marco and Angelica." Beneditto blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of the effects of the flash-bang that Triela had thrown at him.

"You stay here, Benny," Savio said, "You're in no condition to move about."

"You're right," Beneditto admitted and sat down, "Alright, move out."

"Yes, sir!" The three remaining members of team two exited the room, leaving Beneditto and Triela alone.

* * *

(Team one) 

"Jean, report." Hillshire said as he hid under a desk of one of the cubicles located on the 4th floor.

"I'm on the roof," Jean said, "What do you want me to do?"

"Stay there, and keep your eyes on the perimeter of the building. Watch for anyone trying to climb their way up. Rico, where are you?"

"I'm still in the air ducts on the 5th floor," She said with a bit of a grunt, "I'm trying to get Enzo out of the way so I can see through the vents."

"Heheheheh…." She could hear Enzo laugh.

The boy had been shot in the rear end, so as a small act of revenge, he anchored himself to his position by looping his belt around the vent hinges.

"Forget about that, work your way to the vents of the staircase and watch out for any targets."

"Roger." She started backing out through the way she came.

"Marco?" Hillshire called out.

"I'm close to you're position, Hillshire," Marco whispered, "So close that I can hear you."

"I can hear you too," Hillshire whispered, "We're close enough to the stair case that we can pick off anyone who gets past Rico, so we'll stay put. Set up a perimeter; go around the cubicles and into a position that has the best view of the door to the staicase."

"Roger that." Marco said.

"Angelica?" Hillshire called out to the remaining member of his team.

"Yes, sir?" She responded.

"Where are you?"

"I'm not… I'm not too sure, sir, somewhere on the 4th floor. It's dark here."

"Dammit, Angelica!" Marco half screamed half whispered, "What the hell do you think you're doing!"

"Ease off, Marco," Hillshire commanded "Angelica, stay where you are until I say so. Most likely you're in one of the broom closets, so stay put. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

* * *

"Alright, boy-o's," Savio said as he, Baldo, and Nacho reached the entrance to the 4th floor, "Flash-Bangs away!" 

They each tossed in a grenade and turned away, waiting for the "Pshht" of the flash-bang to be heard.

Once inside, they heard the grunts of two men, the victims of the sudden flash of light.

"Nacho, get a move on!" Savio commanded, "Baldo and I will take it from here!"

Nacho re-entered the staircase and climbed upward to continue hunting for Jean and Rico.

Baldo scanned the cubicles ahead and spotted Hillshire under a desk, furiously rubbing his eyes.

"This is for Beneditto." He said before emptying his entire magazine of paint bullets onto the injured man.

"Jean, Marco," Hillshire grunted, "I'm out."

"They're coming for me as well," Marco said, "I can't see anything!"

"Gotcha." Savio shot Marco directly in the side of his helmet.

"Beneditto," Savio began, "Baldo and I got Hillshire and Marco."

"Good work," Beneditto said, "Nacho, how are things going?"

"Shh…" Nacho whispered, "I have Rico in my sights…"

The boy was aiming at a vent directly above him, where he saw the torso of Rico. He fired a burst of shots into the vent.

"Jean," He heard Rico whisper, "They got me."

"Good work, Ignazio," Beneditto said, "Now all that's left is Jean and-"

"Son of a bitch!" Savio interrupted Beneditto, "My eyes!"

"I can't see!" Baldo shouted.

Gunfire was heard through the radio.

"Dammit! Savio and I are down, sir," Baldo said, "Angelica snuck up on us."

"…I can hear her heading in my direction…" Beneditto said, "Nacho, what's you're status?"

"I-I can't get a clear shot of Jean," Nacho said, "He's camping the doorway to the roof!"

"I messed up big time, guys," Beneditto sighed, "Sorry."

Still blinded, the man tossed his carbine to the ground and cursed himself. He had pulled a rookie mistake by not treating every member of an opposing force as a major threat. He had assumed that Angelica would be an easy target.

A second later, a paint bullet was shot into Beneditto's chest.

"Mr. Jean," He heard Angelica's voice, "I took out Baldo, Savio and Beneditto. I think Nacho is headed in your direction."

"Roger that," Jean said, "I have him in my sights now."

Jean fired his weapon at the shadowy figure that was emerging from the doorway that led to the rooftop, making direct contact with Nacho's head.

"He's down," Jean said, "This game is over."

* * *

(Bradley: Narrator) 

**_The Social Welfare Agency: General Nowell's Quarters, Rome, Italy; 2200 hours, Same Day_**

The negative expectations I had of Section Two were wiped clean, as I was now thoroughly impressed with their procedures. I was also impressed at the way each team at today's training exercise adapted to the situation at hand; it began appearing quite amateur-ish in nature, but ended up being exciting to watch. I could easily see why the two sections had this invisible rivalry going on.

It was fascinating to watch children take commands and move about like trained S.W.A.T. team members, yet at the same time it was quite horrendous to see them shoot simulated rounds at each other with no remorse. Even so, I was very impressed with the results, though I wondered if they really would act the same way with live ammunition.

After finishing my report and e-mailing it to the U.S.P. headquarters, I recalled the conversation I had with Claes after the war game was over.

* * *

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 1330 hours, Same Day_**

"Excellent job, team one," Lorenzo spoke through the microphone, "We'll have medics pickup anyone that's injured. The General and I will be at the locker room shortly."

"So what did you think, General?" Percival turned to see that his father was gone from his seat, "Uh… General?"

He scanned the area, finding Bradley talking to Claes in the far corner of the room.

"So what do you do when your teammates are off on a mission?" He asked her.

"I just read," She said, "Sometimes I'm called into the lab to test some new cybernetic enhancements, and other times I work on my garden, but I mostly stay in my room and read."

"Really," Bradley began taking notes, "Do ever wish that you were alongside your teammates?"

"Not really," She put down her book, "I'm mean, I'd like to go along with them sometimes, but I'll just be in their way."

"How so?"

"I have terrible aim," She confessed, "Sometimes I think that I can't even hit the broad side of a barn."

"Well practice makes perfect."

"The only time I get to practice is when there's ammo left over from the other's training, and most of the time I don't even bother. It's not like I'm going back into the field anytime soon."

"I see… the others seem to be extremely dedicated to their handlers. Are you dedicated to the Agency?"

"Please," She sarcastically replied, "I have no one to dedicate my life to other than myself."

"What if the SWA were to assign you a new handler?"

"Then they'll recondition and program me to be another Henrietta."

* * *

(Bradley: Narrator) 

I pulled up Claes' file on my tablet. Her former handler, Raballo, was an elderly man, much older than I. His admittance into the SWA confused me to no end, since he had a bad knee. Clearly, he wouldn't have been able to keep up with the rest of the agents, let alone a cybernetically enhanced girl.

"Unless…," I thought aloud, "Unless he was trying too…"

Suddenly I was interrupted by an e-mail notification on my computer.

"What's this?"

Opening my e-mail in-box, I found that it was just an anonymous e-mail. However, upon closer inspection I read "Agenzia Di Assistenza Sociale - Le informazioni segrete superiori per quanto riguarda il Fratello" as it's subject heading. (Social Welfare Agency – Information regarding the lost Fratello)

I recalled the conversation I had with the boys the other day. They mentioned something about a girl name Elsa and how she had died protecting her Handler.

I had already read several documents about this at the Section Two office, and apparently it was a ongoing investigation concerning the Padania Republic Faction. However, the investigation has long since been cancelled, and the search for the murderer was eventually dissolved.

However, the inquisitive nature within me forced my hand to open the document, leaving me breathless as I stared at its contents. The ballistics report that was on my tablet screen was completely different than what I had read at the office. I had a bit of trouble deciphering the handwritten message, but basically it read:

"_The fragments of the 9mm projectile found in Lauro's Skull matches those of the projectile found in Elsa's skull. Furthermore, bullet grooves found from the mostly intact projectile found in Lauro's cranium matched the grooves of 9mm bullets fired from Elsa's sidearm._

_The provided evidence has left us no other choice but to conclude that this was a murder/suicide conducted by Elsa."_

Another document titled "Un rapporto di osservazione sul Fratello di Lauro/Elsa" was on the next page. (An Observation report on the Lauro/Elsa Fratello)

The report goes into detail about the relationship between Lauro and Elsa, much like the other Fratello's reports. I was told that these bi-annual reports are made by anonymous Fratello Handlers chosen at random to grade their peers.

The report that was on my screen ended with the following statement:

"_For months now, the dedication and love that Elsa shows Lauro has never been returned. Over time, her obsessive behavior has become borderline psychopathic. Personally, I believe that if Lauro continues to ignore Elsa's feats, something horrible will go wrong. These cyborgs that we're dealing with are still unpredictable. _

_I remind you to recall the event between the Jose/Henrietta team and the Raballo/Claes team in the firing range. _

_Immediate action is recommended."_

This report was dated two weeks before the death of the Lauro/Elsa Fratello.

Another report titled "Report on the structural integrity of the cybernetic implants" was found in another page. Strangely, it was the only document contained in the e-mail that was written in English.

It appeared as though it was a personal report adressed to an anonymous person. Though many portions of the report was deleted, one particualr paragraph caught my attention:

_"Overall, the tissue had surpassed any expectations that we previously had. Unfortunately, optical tissue did not preform as well as other elements; mainly due to the sensitivity of the optical nerves. It's resistance to projectiles and other penetrating objects are similar to those of normal human eyes. We have not developed a system to replace any large nerves contained within the specimen, so damage to the brain will cause immediate retardation and, eventually, death; as was shown during the optical resistance tests we administered on XXXXXX. Eyes, however can be easily repaced with a donor._

_I went ahead and told my colleagues Dr. XXXXXXX and Dr. XXXXXXXXX that you ordered such a syestem to be implemented as a sort of fail-safe, in case we lost control of a specimen.  
_

_Even so, I reccomend the immediate use of this particular human enhancement as it may lead to the well being and future security of XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.  
_

_The development of optical implants will resume with your permission. _

_Your loyal servant, friend, and brother,_

_Dr. XXXX XXXXXXXX"  
_

Authentic or not, Lorenzo would hear about this.

* * *

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 0700 hours, June 16, 2005_**

"So tell me," Rei whispered to her fiancé, "Why are we watching your dad shoot these targets?"

"For the last time," Percival began, "I don't know. He just told me to skip P.T. and have everyone gather here."

The explosion that came from Bradley's Raging Bull rattled the heads of all the agents of the SWA. Most of the agents of Section One smiled amongst themselves as Bradley hit another bull's eye, or more appropriately, another "headshot".

The General appeared as though he had a major "chip" on his shoulders. His sunglasses allowed no one to gaze upon his eyes, yet his aiming stance, a dangerous one-handed stance, and his body language when reloading had "pissed off" written all over.

About 200 feet from where Bradley was taking aim, stood a row of 10 paper targets. Each target had the life-sized silhouette of a person, with 4 of the silhouette's heads filled with holes. He was currently working on his 5th target.

"What's the purpose of this?" Jose approached Bradley, "General, what are you doing!"

"Training," Said Bradley. "Just incase anything goes wrong."

"What was that, General?" Jose demanded, "Are you insane?"

Jose held Henrietta behind him, protecting her from The General's view. He knew exactly what Bradley was implying, though he fought to keep from blurting it out, especially in front of Henrietta..

Bradley continued firing, hitting the silhoutte's picture directly in the center of it's forehead. Light golf-like clapping was heard from within the crowd of Agents.

"General, this is ridiculous, The Agents have work to do," Jean spoke, "I don't think that either Chief Dragi or Chief Lorenzo would approve of this sort of behavior early this morning."

"Do you approve of this?" Bradley turned and pointed his revolver at Jean's forehead.

Rico instantly leaped at The General, reacting to the threat that he posed to Jean.

Bradley caught her attack out of the corner of his eye, and in a few quick movements, Rico was disabled; sitting cross-legged on the ground, hands on her back held together by Bradley's right foot. He had his Mateba pointed at her head and his Raging Bull still fixed on Jean.

Rico struggled to move, but to no avail; The General was using his leverage to his advantage.

"General, don't do this," Jean calmly said, "Put the gun away…."

"What's the meaning of this?" Lorenzo shouted as he and Dragi stormed past the crowd of Agents, "General, what are you up to?"

"I'll see you two, as well as Jean and Fermi, in Lorenzo's office," Bradley holstered his weapons, "I have an announcement to make."

Bradley wiped the dirt off of Rico's back and carried her to her feet.

"I'm sorry." He apologized to the befuddled girl.

* * *

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Lorenzo's Office, Rome, Italy; 0750 hours, Same Day_**

"May I?" Bradley asked, holding a cigar.

"By all means, General," Lorenzo said, "But please tell us what it is that you're up to?"

"I don't like secrets," Bradley lit his cigar, "Especially ones that you can't hide."

"I don't understand, General."

Bradley retrieved a folder from his briefcase and tossed it on Lorenzo's desk.

"Maybe you'll understand after reading this. If you want to keep something secret, make sure it stays hidden. Burn it if you have to, but don't keep it around."

Jean, Fermi and Dragi crowded around Lorenzo as he opened the folder.

After a few moments of reading the documents laid out on Lorenzo's desk, Dragi laughed out loud, "HA! I knew there was something wrong with that ballistics report I read."

"Jesus Christ." Fermi grumbled, unknown to the other men that he had already known the true cause of the death of the Elsa/Lauro Fratello.

"Where did you find this?" Lorenzo demanded, "General, where did you get this information?"

"If you want to keep something a secret, Agent, make sure it stays hidden. Burn it if you have to, but don't keep it lying around. Unless it's wiped from the face of the earth, any kind of document is accessible."

Jean gulped; he was ordered by Lorenzo to get rid of the ballistics reports, but he had neglected to do so.

"Judging by your reaction, these documents must be true…" He puffed on his cigar, lost in a few moments of thought, "Yesterday morning I received a reply from the U.S.P concerning my inspection on Section One. My colleagues were impressed with the work that was going on here, Dragi."

"My gratitude goes to them," Dragi said, "And my thanks go to my Agents."

"This morning, I received a reply concerning my inspection of Section Two…." Bradley puffed on his cigar once again, blowing the smoke toward Lorenzo.

The Chief nervously gulped; this information leak was unfavorable to Bradley, so it was almost certain that the U.S.P. would feel the same way.

"Lucky for you, Chief Lorenzo, these documents were e-mailed to me after I had submitted my report." Both Lorenzo and Jean mentally breathed a sigh of relief, "What the Italian Government views as problematic, are simply minor details that can be fixed in a short amount of time to the eyes of my peers. Of course, with more personnel and funding around, I believe that the Social Welfare Agency will be back to 100 percent operational within a few weeks."

"General…," Jena started, "Am I to understand that…"

Bradley smiled to the man and extended his hand, "Please accept my apologies for my actions earlier, Agent. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"Accepted, General," Jean shook his hand, "But please, explain to us what's going on."

Bradley continued shaking Jean's hand, "As of 1200 hours today, gentlemen, the deed to this area will be sold to the U.S. Government as land for a Military base. Welcome to America."

The 4 Italians were speechless.

"Congratulations on your hard work, gentleman, it's made an impression on me," Bradley shook the 3 other men's hands, "However, I will be keeping an eye on your Section, Lorenzo. You made it to this position by a hair and a bit of dumb luck, and any kind of slip up will have the entire SWA come crashing down. I don't like that you covered up the cause of the deaths of Elsa and Lauro; it's a potential threat to the other Fratello Teams, and one that must be corrected. But something inside my head demanded that I allow you to pass. It's a feeling I haven't felt since before my days in the Army, Lorenzo, and I always trusted that feeling. I can't describe it except to say it was like... being possesed..."

The 4 men didn't know how to reply.

"Anyways, Lorenzo, for the next few days I want you to concentrate on informing the other Fratello about the true reason of Elsa and Lauro's demise. Be gentle about it as well. Some of them may not take the news very lightly and might even refuse to continue working with the cyborgs. We can't have that happening, so if you feel that a certain Handler cannot handle such news, inform me and I'll discuss it with him."

"Yes, General," Lorenzo said, "I'll work on it."

"I have requested that this Agency be put on the 'Watch List'," Bradley said, "That means that for a period of one year, a live-in inspector will provide the U.S.P. with reports of any undesirable activities. Any and all reports will determine weather you are worth keeping around or not. The inspector will also work under the guise of an agent of the SWA. I hope you have no objections to this?"

"No objections, General!" Lorenzo stood at attention and saluted. He lied, of course, since the U.S. was now bringing him back to where he began nearly a year ago.

"Good," Bradley had a wide grin painted on his face, "Now guess who that inspector is…."

_**End chapter Three**_

_**Coming soon:**_

_**Chapter Four: Propositions**_


	5. Chapter Four: Propositions

_Note: Two updates in one! WEWT! _

_It was like the hymen that is my writer's block was finally penetrated by my creative outlet thrusting itself deeper and deeper into my soul until climaxing into what you are reading right now!_

…

_I need a cigarette…Here's Chapter 4...  
_

_

* * *

_

"Baldo, may I ask you something?" Hillshire asked as Medics wheeled him into the locker room.

"What is it, sir?" The young boy asked.

"Did you HAVE to shoot all 20 rounds at me?"

"Er…," Baldo smiled, "Whoops…."

"Moron…." Beneditto grunted. He scolded the boy by slapping the backside of his head.

"Uh, Baldo?" Naldo called to him, "Triela is waiting for you outside…."

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

_**Chapter Four: Propositions**_

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Lorenzo's Office, Rome, Italy; 0730 hours, June 17, 2005_**

"Come in, Jean." Lorenzo called out from his chair.

The Agent entered the room, a stern look carved into his face.

"What is it that you want to talk to me about?" Lorenzo asked as he buried his nose in several documents that required his signature.

"It's about The General, sir," Jean began, "There's something odd about him."

"How so?" Lorenzo did not make eye contact with his trusted advisor.

"Sir, I'm not sure if you had a good enough view yesterday morning, but the way he took Rico down was… inhuman."

"He's skilled in the martial arts," The Chief was still signing away several sheets of paper, "I'm sure any kung-fu black-belt-master would have stopped any one of our cyborgs the same way, though I doubt they'll last long in that position."

"No, sir, General Nowell completely disabled Rico; she was unable to move an inch. Surely you must find that a bit out of the ordinary."

"Jean, I just finished reading reports on The British Library, The French SOLDATS and the Chinese Doukusensha Agency; I find damn near anything to be possible now, but General Nowell totally disabling a cyborg assassin with his bare hands is something I find hard to swallow, especially considering his age. Just call it a fluke."

"Dammit, Chief!" Jean slammed his hands on Lorenzo's desk, "He's hiding something that WE should know about. Otherwise, he'd just be a hypocrite! He's going to jeopardize-"

"He's going to bring Section Two out of the gutters and into the spotlight." Lorenzo interrupted Jean and stood face-to-face with his comrade, "Dammit Jean, we've worked together for years. You should know by now that if something is threatening Section two I would act upon it, but right now my priority is getting us back on our feet, and the only person who can do that is The General. Friendly or not, he holds the future of the Social Welfare Agency in his hands, Jean. Just think about that will you?"

Jean retreated from The Chief's desk.

"Let him do his job," Lorenzo returned to his seat, "In one year, he'll be out of our hair."

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Cafeteria, Rome, Italy; 0730 hours, Same Day_**

The three Americans were gathered around a dining table in the far corner of the room. Not on official duty, they wore civilian clothing. Joining them at the table was a handful of the cyborgs of Section Two.

Triela busied herself by sharing a newspaper with Rico and Nacho. Naldo sat next to the window, staring outside at the summer morning sun as he rubbed his eyes free of last night's tear buildup. Baldo, the last of the cyborgs at the table, sat by himself at the opposite end of where Triela sat, resting his head on the table. The boy was still aware that she was extremely cross at the way he emptied his entire magazine on Hillshire yesterday, so he wanted to avoid making any eye contact.

They all sat patiently as they awaited Henrietta and her latest attempt at a homemade breakfast. Bradley persuaded the cooks to let her use the kitchen, asking them to offer any help to the girl when she needed it.

"So what do you two plan to do now?" Bradley asked as he sipped on a cup of Darjeeling tea. Drinking tea happened to be his secret addiction, and without any kind of tea during the past few days, he needed a strong booster fix.

"I'm going back to California," Percival said, "They want me at Pendleton for a while; some kids from the 102nd Engineers Unit and the 555th Infantry are headed over to Iraq, which means major paper work is waiting for me."

"God bless them," Bradley commented. He knew that most of the men entering Iraq weren't even able to legally buy a beer in the U.S., "What about you, Rei?"

"I'm going back home, as well," She began, "Just for a week or two."

"You two are leaving?" Rico stopped reading the comic section of the newspaper, "So soon?"

"We'll be back," Percival assured the girl, "I'm only gone for a few weeks and Rei will be back here in Rome very shortly. You know I can't leave you kids all by yourself."

"Apparently…," Nacho began, "Officers of the U.S. Military aren't robots…"

The children all chuckled at Nacho's strange observation.

"What about you, dad?" Percival asked, "Where are you headed?"

"I'm staying here," Bradley announced to his subordinates, "I've been re-assigned to observe and inspect the SWA for the next year. I've also be given a position as an agent within Section two." The man smiled widely, a trademark that the children had now gotten used to.

The shocked expressions on everyone's faces were a sight to behold. Everyone at the table had to hold their own jaws shut.

"Breakfast time!" Henrietta called out, effectively ridding the trance that Bradley had cast upon them with his announcement. She carried a platter stacked with crispy Belgian waffles. A caravan of cooks followed her and began setting the table, placing plates, knives, forks, and spoons in front of every person. Condiments were also placed in the center of the table.

The aroma of butter, fruit preserves, and crispy waffles wafted into Rei's nostrils; for the first time after arriving in Italy, breakfast was being served to her. She didn't even notice the look of disgust that each cyborg was trying to hide; they knew how bland Henrietta's cooking always turned out to taste.

"Who's first?" Henrietta held a single waffle with a pair of tongs.

"I think Rei wants to get her breakfast first…." Bradly said, noticing the slip of drool that escaped her mouth.

The woman quickly wiped her lips.

With hunger winning over embarrassment, Rei held her plate out to Henrietta, "I would like to have the first waffle, please."

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Cyborg Dormitory, Rome, Italy; 1150 hours, Same Day_**

"Have you seen Claes?" Bradley asked as he poked his head into Triela's room.

"Not since she left this morning." Triela responded. She was busy cleaning the internals of her Remington shotgun.

Bradley scanned the interior of the room, shuddering to himself as he witnessed the unnatural site of a barely teenaged girl, who was surrounded by teddy bears while she dismantled a high powered weapon as if it were a toy.

"Do you happen to know where I can find her?"

"You might want to try her garden. It's right outside the laundry room."

"Thanks." Bradley shut the door as he jogged toward Claes' garden.

Trotting down a flight of stairs, he recalled the conversation he had with Lorenzo earlier this morning.

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Bradley's Office, Rome, Italy; 0900 hours, Same Day

* * *

_**

(Bradley: First Person)

"You wanted to speak with me, General?" Lorenzo asked, entering the empty room that was soon to be my office. He stood at attention before me.

I could feel his curious eyes gaze upon me as I sat cross-legged on the wood floor, cleaning my revolvers.

"Yes I did, Chief," I paused from my chore and scanned the room, "Uh… please make yourself comfortable."

"I'm fine where I'm at, General," Lorenzo said, "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"Currently there are 9 active Fratello, yet there are 10 cyborgs," I resumed cleaning my revolvers, "Why is that, Chief?" I already knew the reason, but I wanted to hear it directly from Lorenzo's lips instead of re-reading the information from reports.

"Claes' handler, Raballo, was emotionally unstable; he couldn't deal with working with child cyborgs, General."

"I see. So why haven't you found a replacement?"

"Once programmed to a handler, a cyborg is mentally attached, so to speak, to that Agent. Reprogramming a new Handler into a cyborg's memory hasn't been thoroughly tested yet, and it may lead to permanent brain damage. So we simply wiped Claes' memory clean and use her to test experimental enhancements that could be used on future cyborgs."

"Such a waste," I checked the sights on my Mateba, "But don't you think Raballo had something else in mind when he was training Claes?"

"What do you mean, General?"

"Well think about it: the man was handicapped and was well past my age. Did you believe that he could keep up with the rest of the agents?"

"So you're suggesting that he was training Claes to be able to perform missions without being by her side?"

"Precisely," I pulled the trigger on my Mateba. Not hearing the satisfying "click", I took the major components apart and re-cleaned the joints and hammer, "A cyborg able to perform missions without the luxury… or burden of a handler nearby. It's a brilliant concept, don't you think? No risk of losing a 'normal' Agent." I mentally spat on the ground as I said this.

"If you're planning on obtaining a cyborg of your own, we can easily provide you with a new one. I'll schedule a visit to the nearby hospital tomorrow."

"Why get a new one when we have a perfectly good one right here?" I reassembled my Mateba and cocked the hammer. Hearing a satisfying "click" after pulling the trigger, I began work on my Raging Bull.

"I don't know if Claes can take another re-conditioning session, General. Like I mentioned earlier, there's a good chance that if we do reprogram her, she'll lose consciousness and die."

"Then we don't use the drug on her." I checked the sights on my Raging Bull, "I'll simply ask her if she wants to be redeployed as an active Agent. If she accepts, then I'll personally train her without the use of the conditioning drugs. If she refuses, then so be it. She'll continue to be your guinea pig."

"If that's what you wish, General, then do as you please. If she accepts your offer, we'll just have to find another guinea pig to replace Claes."

"If you do that, please don't show me the child," I felt dirty inside, "I don't like witnessing children wither away before my eyes; I've had enough of that when I was in Afghanistan and Somalia…"

"Right." Lorenzo saluted and exited my room.

I said a small prayer to myself, raising the Raging Bull to an aiming position.

"Master…," I whispered, "Help me… and help _her_ choose the right path…"

I pulled the trigger, and heard a satisfying "click".

* * *

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Courtyard, Rome, Italy; 1205 hours, Same Day_**

As Bradley approached the laundry room, he noticed that off to the right was a brick wall built to about 2 feet tall. He could tell that it was recently constructed; the bricks still had a solid gray color to them, none were faded or damaged.

Upon closer inspection, he saw a child's head rise just above the wall. The child appeared as though he or she were tending to the various vegetables and flowers that grew within the fertile barriers.

"Claes?" Bradley called out to the working child.

"Hmm?" He heard a response.

The identity of the mystery head was finally revealed to be the fragile looking Agenlica. The girl wiped her sweaty brow with a gloved hand.

"Oh, good afternoon, General," She greeted, "I'm sorry, but Claes isn't here."

"I see," Bradley began, "So what are you doing here?"

"I like gardening, sir," She resumed tending to a patch of carrots, "I find it relaxing."

"Where's Marco?" Bradley asked, "Is he off today?"

"He's not off duty, but he's gone somewhere."

"Do you know where?"

"I have no idea, sir." The girl stood up and wiped the dirt off her pants.

"Right," Bradley was disappointed that Marco didn't take his cyborg along with him, "I'll have to speak with him about this."

"It's all right, General, there's no need to," Angelica started tending to another patch of vegetables on the opposite end of the garden, "It's all my fault, really. I… make too many mistakes. I just have to rain harder for a while."

Hearing this, Bradley was now convinced that he absolutely had to speak with her Handler at a later date. Right now, though, his priority was speaking with Claes.

"Do you happen to know where Claes is at?"

"I saw her headed towards the range with Savio and Ezno, but that was an hour ago."

"Looks like I'll have to run over there to catch them before they leave," Bradley stroked his chin, "Thanks for the help, Angelica. I owe you one."

"Oh no," The girl responded, not realizing that The General had already left, "No trouble at all, sir."

_**The Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 1230 hours, Same Day**_

The pops and cracks of bullets being fired from small caliber firearms was heard as Bradley approached the outdoor firing range.

Luckily for Bradley, age hasn't caught up with him as he was able to run the entire distance between the Agency and the range without stopping. From a distance, he could easily see that Claes and Enzo were firing their weapons, while an Agent stood a few yards away, observing and recording data on a notebook.

"Bingo," Bradley said to himself, "Finally found you."

The General jogged toward the casually dressed Agent, "Good afternoon, Agent Savio," Bradley began, "How are things going?"

"Ah, General," Savio put his pocket-sized notebook away, "I wasn't expecting you today, Sir. Did you need something?"

"Actually, I do," Bradly turned to study Claes' firing stance, "Does Claes train with you and Ezno often?"

"Once in a while, sir," The Agent scratched his head, "Enzo likes to use old weapons, so we really don't use the 9mm rounds that are issued to us."

Bradley noticed that Claes was firing a Heckler ünd Koch VP-90 in its burst mode. He knew the gun was a favorite amongst videogame fanatics, due to its major role in the game "Resident Evil 2", but because of its heavy and long trigger pull, it was a rather undesirable weapon amongst law enforcement and military personnel. The girl fired a volley of round into a target directly in front of her, hitting near the center of its chest.

Enzo, on the other hand, was firing what could be considered an antique to many gun enthusiasts. The Mosin-Nagant M1891-30 Sniper rifle he held was definitely old, something that the battered wooden stock attested to, but it fired smoothly nonetheless. He sat on a stool and rested his bi-pod equipped rifle on a table.

"Mind if I borrow Claes for a bit?" Bradley asked.

"Not at all, General," Savio then spoke into a microphone, "Cease fire, you two. Claes, The General wants to speak with you."

Claes took off her ear protection and trotted over to Bradley.

"Yes, General?" she asked.

"I don't know why you said you were a horrible shot yesterday," Bradly told her, "I saw you hit those targets placed at 50 yards."

"I guess today I'm on a roll, General."

"Really. Is that why you picked today, of all days, to go out on the range?"

The girl hesitated for a bit, biting her bottom lip as she thought of a reply.

"No, I was just invited by Savio and felt like firing off a few rounds, that's all."

"Right, well I guess that you picked a good day, no?"

Claes looked over her shoulder and towards the aerated targets. It was almost as if she were anxious to get back to shooting.

"I should get to the reason why I wanted to talk to you so you can get back to training."

The girl stared at Bradley with inquisitive eyes.

"How would you like to return to the field, Claes?"

"The field, sir? You mean start working again?"

"That's right; start working again."

"Like I said yesterday, sir, I don't want to be a burden to my comrades. Besides, I have no handler to call my own."

"I'm not talking about starting another Fratello, Claes. I'm talking about you becoming an Agent of Section two. This is coming from me, personally, and not from Lorenzo or Jean or any other member of the SWA. Train with me and I guarantee that you'll become an independent Agent of Section Two by next year."

Claes' eyes grew wide; this suggestion had never even come across her mind.

"I-I don't know about that, sir. I've been reading several documents on the mental capabilities of us cyborgs, and the Handler is there for a reason."

"And what would that reason be?"

"Leadership, sir. Apparently we cyborgs don't have the ability to strategically plan things out as they occur. 'Combat instincts', I believe, is the correct term, sir. Without pre-planning a cyborg will be at a loss as to what it's supposed to do. Sure we can keep fighting and killing the bad guys, but somebody has to be there to tell us when to start and to stop."

"Do you believe that's true, Claes, that you aren't an independent person? That you or your comrades can't think for themselves in a fire-fight? That you need your hands held anytime you're outside the SWA walls? If you believe that, young lady, then why are you still training? Do you want to stay a guinea pig for the rest of your life?"

The girl stood there in thought.

"I've read documents as well, young lady. I've read about that raid on the mountain estate that you were involved in. You went undercover for hours. You knew when to initiate the attack. Without your distraction, the mission would have failed. Now tell me that isn't 'Combat Instincts'."

Claes didn't respond to The General's badgering. Instead, she reloaded her handgun with a fresh magazine from her utility belt and walked away.

"Claes," Savio hissed, "Don't turn away from a superior Officer like that."

"It's all right, Agent, I'm not in uniform." Bradley said.

Disappointed that Claes unknowingly sealed her own fate, he turned and walked back to the main complex.

"_God Speed, Claes,"_ The General thought to himself, _"Take care of yourself."_

**_The Social Welfare Agency: Bradley's Office, Rome, Italy; 0100 hours, June 18, 2005  
_**

The conversation that Bradley had with Claes yesterday afternoon left him feeling uneasy, which led to another bout of insomnia. So to keep productive, he began decorating his office with various items that came from the U.S.P. and the U.S. Army. The items included furniture, a new computer, various posters with Army slogans printed on, and other such decorations.

His request for a large SUV was also fulfilled. The Commanding Officer of Naples Naval Support Activity in nearby Naples had flown in a brand new 2006 Toyota Sequoia "Limited" Edition; partly because The General requested it, but mostly as a kiss to The General's ass.

While booting up the new computer for the first time, a soft rapping came from his door. Immediately, he placed his hand over his Raging Bull that lay on top of his desk; a visitor at this hour was quite uncommon, even by military standards.

"Who is it?" He asked.

"It's Claes, General," Bradley released his grip of the revolver, "You weren't in your room so…."

Bradley sighed, "Come in, Claes."

The girl entered the room.

"What is it?" Bradley asked, returning on monitoring his computer.

"I just…," She began, "I was just thinking about what you said earlier. About becoming an Agent."

Bradley's ear lit up, "What about it?" He asked

"I…," She hesitated, "I decided to accept your offer, General."

"That's great," Bradley had a wide smile on his face, his trademark smile, "But why the sudden change of mind?"

"I want to prove to the Agency that I am an Independent person, Sir, that I am not a robot. I want to show the other cyborgs, the Handlers, and especially the scientists that I am not a dog, only to do as I am told."

Bradley was nearly moved to tears. He wanted to jump up and give her a hug, much like he would do with his own children, but he held steady.

"I'm glad that you changed your mind, Claes."

"It's all thanks to you, General. If you hadn't said all those things about being independent, I wouldn't even be here tonight."

"The choice was made by you, Claes. You're already independent, in my eyes."

Claes stood at attention and gave a sharp salute. Instead of a replying, Bradley walked over to the girl and put her hand down.

"I'll have none of that coming from you, Claes." He said.

The girl became confused; she knew full well that she had done the right thing.

"What do you mean, General?" She asked.

"From now on, we're partners. We're equals; peers. Don't call me 'General', 'Sir, 'Mister', or anything of the sort. Just call me 'Brad' like my friends do. Got it?" He held the girl's soft hands, "This is a promise between you an me, understand?"

A sudden flash of memories appeared before Claes' eyesl; those of which that were not her own. She saw the image of an elderly man with a bad leg, handing her an object. The same man then appeared to be fishing at a lake, smiling as he reeled in a gigantic trout. The next image was that of the same man, pitifully staring at her as she soaked in the rain.

Just as soon as the images appeared, they were gone. Her heart filled with a strange emotion; it wasn't sadness nor was it sorrow, but for some reason she wanted to cry.

She wiped the tears away from her eyes and eventually the akward words came from her mouth, "I understand…, Brad."

_**End chapter Four**_

_**Coming soon:**_

_**Chapter Five: Father and Son  
**_


	6. Chapter Five: Father and Son

_Note: Changed the chapter name. _

_Short "filler" chapter, but I just HAD to write this._

_

* * *

_

Savio shook his head as Claes walked away from Bradley, rejecting his initial proposition.

"Not good with the ladies, eh General?" The young Agent snickered.

"I may be a bit rusty when it comes to smooth talk," Bradley replied, "But at least I'm married."

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Five: Father and Son_**

**_

* * *

_**

**_Somewhere in the boondocks of Rome, Italy; 2330 hours, July 2, 2005_**

"Claes, report your status." Bradley spoke to the girl via a headset. He sat in his SUV using binoculars to observe Claes as she sat a few hundred yards away at a bus stop. Alongside Bradley sat Jose and Henrietta; both of them as anxious as ever, seeing as this was their first mission with The General.

"No sign of him yet," Claes responded, "Should I relocate?"

"No, you stay where you are. This is the location that I gave him, so he's bound to show up at anytime."

"General?" Jose spoke, "Who is this man you're after?"

Bradley tossed a manila folder onto Jose's lap, "I'm sorry for not briefing you earlier, Jose, but time was of the essence. He could strike at any minute."

Jose flipped through several pages before arriving upon a rap sheet of Bradley's intended target. He began to read aloud.

"Guido Vespucci, age 43," he began, "Says here that he's a major player in the 'Padania Republic Faction', responsible for several tip-of-the-scale kidnappings and murders… and is the mastermind behind the attempted kidnapping of the daughter of Senator Sanctis, Caterina. I thought we killed the guy at the R.F. Villa?"

"Turns out you didn't." Bradley leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes, "You see this guy is a Grade A pedophile. He was on his way to… 'meet' Caterina… or should I say Claes? But when you attacked he turned tail and ran. The P.R.F. thought he was the only survivor of the attack, so they rewarded his endeavor by 'promoting' him to what he is today."

"So we barley missed him," Jose commented, "How could we have missed such an oversight?"

"Because he's that important to the Faction," Bradley said, "After he settled into his cushy new job within the P.R.F. he went back to his old habits, sexually assaulting children. And since he had the manpower to fuel his needs, his victims started piling up. Last month alone he held an average of 9 victims a week."

Jose felt the anger and disgust that came from Bradley's voice. He realized that Bradley wasn't doing this to get rid of a terrorist, but was instead was getting rid of a child molester; the feared enemy of all parents of children throughout the world.

"I've never heard of this before, General." Jose spat out the window, "Where did you get all this information?"

"I have my sources," Bradley took a sip of an unknown liquid from a pocket flask; "The reason why you've never seen this in the paper is because of his newly acquired political power. Once he's had his fill, he murders the poor thing and destroys any and all records of their existence. The parents file a missing child report, but the police can't really do shit about a kid that doesn't exist, now, can they?" Bradley tossed the flask over to Jose, "Drink some of this. I can tell you need it."

"Jesus Christ." Jose concentrated on suppressing the urge to vomit. He recalled the time he first laid eyes upon the butchered Henrietta. It was a nightmare that flashed before him every time he heard about mutilated children on the news.

He prayed that Claes would make the bastard suffer, making a mental toast as he took a large gulp from the flask.

"Brad," Claes called in, "Someone's coming… it's a Limousine"

"A limo in the boonies…," Bradley thought out loud, "This is it, Claes. You know what to do."

"Roger that."

Claes stood from her seat and adjusted the backpack that was slung over one shoulder. She began walking in the opposite direction that the Limo was heading.

As soon as the vehicle arrived at Claes' position, the passenger door swung open. A pair of gigantic arms flew toward the girl from within the car, wrestling with her for a bit until finally dragging her inside. Claes was officially kidnapped for the second time.

"Henrietta," Bradley spoke, "Get ready; stay next to us and pick off anyone that tries to run. Try to get some headshots; those are .22LR Sub-Sonics you're using so aim a bit higher."

"Yes, sir." The girl quietly slipped from her seat and lay on the ground next to Bradley's SUV. She steadied her Walther G22 rifle, aiming at the limo ahead.

After rolling forward for only a few feet, the limo jerked to a sudden halt. Immediately, the driver jumped out of the car and began running as fast as he could.

After a trio of low crackling sounds was heard, the driver fell; blood gushing from his neck. Henrietta had secured a direct hit.

Rapid clicks were heard from within the limo as it bounced around in place. The blood-curdling screams of men from within the limo were strangely satisfying to Jose and Bradley's ears; they both knew that Claes was taking her sweet time in the disposal of the trash that dared to call themselves "men".

After a few tense seconds the air became silent once again, and the limo's jumps slowly faded away.

"Brad," Cales radioed in, "It's done."

"Good job, now plant your gun on Vespucci," Bradley responded, "Jose, help me put the driver back into his seat while Henrietta sets up the fuse."

* * *

**_Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 1500 hours, June 30, 2005_**

The triple burst shots of Claes' VP-90 and the explosions coming from Bradley's Raging Bull were the only sounds heard as they both stood side by side; the only ones who occupied the shooting range. Targets were distanced at an average 100 feet away, good enough for warming up for today's exercises.

"Remember, Claes," Bradley spoke when it was time to reload, "Sights are worthless in combat situations, so don't bother using them even during stationary target practice. Remind me to remove them later on."

"Got it." The girl replied.

"Also, alternate between using your firearm and a laser pointer to improve your hand/eye coordination when drawing your weapon; being a split second faster than your enemy is the difference between life and death."

"So… remove the butt-stock on my gun?"

"Yeah, you aren't going to use it on the field, so don't even bother with that for now," Bradley smiled, "though you can use it for fun now and then."

Claes returned to her target practice, only this time she was holding a handheld laser pointer. She would begin her exercise by placing the pointer into her hip holster, then drawing it and pointing the red-dot at a target in the distance.

"Good," Bradley complemented, "Keep doing that until you're able to point a bull's eye 100 consecutive times. Next week we'll begin REAL training."

"Roger that." The girl replied.

Bradley used this time to remove the synthetic butt-stock from Claes' firearm, as well as clean her weapon.

"_An elegant choice for a side-arm…"_ Bradley thought, _"But we'll have to find a suitable primary weapon for you."_

He observed his partner as she continued with the exercise, relishing every moment that she hit a bull's-eye upon a draw.

"_Keep it up and you'll be as good as I am…-" _Bradley noted to himself.

The past few days were spent on instruction in a classroom, rather than field training. Claes had absorbed everyone one of Bradley's lectures, whether it be on tactical procedures, to the identification of insignia of the world's military officers, to psychological warfare by using sounds and vocal threats to psyche out her enemy. In a mere 14 days, Bradley turned Claes into the world's most knowledgeable soldier.

From now on, he would have to transform her into the strongest as well.

Off in the distance the sound of a footsteps heading towards Bradley's position was heard. He turned in the direction of the sound to spot a curious pair; one an adult man dressed in casual wear and carrying a swollen backpack on his back, the other a young teenager wearing similar clothing and carried several rifle bags on his shoulder.

Bradley identified them as Beneditto and his cyborg Baldo.

"Ah! General," Beneditto said as he set his bags onto the ground, "Finally I get a chance to meet you personally! My name is Beneditto DaVinci."

The man vigorously shook Bradley's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Beneditto," Bradley took his hand back, "I can see where Baldo gets his enthusiasm."

"Nah he's just like that," the Agent whistled for his cyborg, "Get the rifles prepped. You're getting sloppy with your distance shots so we're working on that today. Set the targets at 500 yards and wait for further instructions."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" The boy responded as he began to retrieve an arsenal of rifles from the various bags he was carrying.

Beneditto also began emptying the contents of his own bag. To Bradley's surprise, Beneditto's backpack turned out to be a cooler filled to the brim with ice and cans of-

"Soda?" Bradley wondered, "Why'd you bring soda?"

"They're Baldo's favorite," Beneditto said, "Besides, I can't drink beer around live ammo; wouldn't be a very smart thing to do. Want one?"

"No thanks," Bradley said, "I'm not thirsty."

Beneditto popped open a can and took a quick sip before speaking, "So how's training going along?" Beneditto offered Bradley a seat on a picnic table located a few yards away from the firing area.

"It's going very smoothly," Bradley said as he began dismantling Claes' firearm, "I can't believe you guys would let her wither away like that."

"Don't look at me! I have nothing to do with the decisions in and around Section Two."

"Yeah, I know."

"So she's doing well, eh?"

"She's doing extremely well; Unlike certain people in this Agency, I reward my partner for a job well done. Usually I just take her to a book store or record store and let her use up her entire allowance."

Beneditto coughed a bit of his drink, "Well that isn't unethical, but it is irregular in this line of work. I do the same with Baldasarre. If he does well, we hang at the mall. If he does bad… we hang out at the mall anyways."

"Think you're spoiling him a little?"

"Nah," Beneditto sipped his drink, "He's still a kid, so I'm letting him have some fun."

"That's very true," Bradley lit a cigarette and began smoking, "But you do have to put your foot down once in a while."

"This coming from the man who's rumored to have 10 children…"

Bradley chuckled, "I do have 10 kids. I am the proud father of 10 beautiful children."

"Jesus," Beneditto was shocked, "I can't even handle Baldo, let alone 10 kids. You have heard of a 'condom' right?"

"Heh," Bradley smiled, "Of course I have. Having a child is one of the most wonderful feelings in the world; it's also the hardest to explain why it is so."

"Then…," Beneditto started, "Was it hard for you to stop having kids?"

Bradley studied the curious expression that was plastered on the young agent's face.

"No it's just," The man hesitated, "…the way I was raised; the way my wife was raised. In traditional Japan, small families are frowned upon. I was raised a single child, so I never had the joy of having smaller siblings around me."

Beneditto's face instantly turned into a serious look as Bradley spoke. The transformation caught Bradley's attention, but he continued.

"I was raised on the road; traveling 24-7. It was a non-stop journey. I… made a promise to my foster mother before she left. I said to her, 'If you promise to come back one day, I'll promise you that you'll have lots of grandkids.' She laughed, of course, but I was serious."

"Did you ever see your mother again?"

"No," Bradley smothered his finished cigarette under his boots, "...I doubt I ever will."

"Aww, come now, don't say things like that. What was she like, anyhow? Where'd she run off to?"

It was Bradley's turn to change the subject, "So what's it like being Baldo's handler? I'm sure it's a handful."

"…well not really, he's a good kid," Beneditto said, "He rarely gets out of hand, 'cept when it comes to girls."

"So I hear."

"It's funny," Beneditto chuckled, "Before his conditioning he was a very quiet boy."

"You knew him before he was conditioned? Is that why you chose him to become your partner?"

"Before I answer that, General, may I ask you another question?"

"Go on ahead."

"If one of your children were to die, would you do anything to bring them back to life?"

Bradley had no response. Instead, he eyed the man before him with a solid face; not blinking, not making any sudden movements. It was almost as if he were reading a book. There was something about Beneditto's sudden change of attitude that bothered Bradley. It wasn't just the awkward timing of his question, since one of Bradley's own children was suffering from a serious fever; it was as if Beneditto was seeking advice.

* * *

(Beneditto:Narrator) 

My real name is "Benito Vespucci".

When I first started working for the SWA, I was a simple data analyst. My job was to study the geographical area of aerial photographs taken from spy planes or satellite images for Section One. I was a hard worker, one of the best non-field operatives of the entire agency. I was also considered the backbone of Section one, as Dragi would commonly refer to my group and I. Every mission that Section One was given, I was there providing data and layouts of the target area.

The reason I was that good?

My brother, Guido, was part of the Padania Repiblic Faction. Not only was he simply a part of the P.R.F., but he was one of the big bosses. I gave away secrets, things that would lead to the eventual demise of any threat to Italy. In essence…I was a professional double agent. My brother never knew I was working for the government.

I hated my brother for working with terrorists, but he never knew; I don't think he even cared to find out. All he knew was that I was living at his house and watching his boy. For doing that and keeping my mouth shut about his activities, I was paid a hefty sum every week.

Besides spending the money on myself, I would take his son, my nephew, out to several places and buy him lots of gifts. I raised him as if he were my own son, since the day he came home from the hospital. I even loved him as such, I truly did. There was only one time when we were ever apart, and that was when I went to work.

When I went to work, my brother would keep an eye one him. When I came home, the boy would either be crying himself to sleep or he would stay in the bathroom all day.

I knew what was going on, but I didn't have the balls to approach my brother. After all, it was he who took me in and cared for me. Confronting him would mean the end of my means of support as well as my life.

All that changed about a year ago. I got a call one day while lounging at work. My nephew had been beaten half to death. I knew exactly who did it.

When I reached the hospital I went nuts. I strangled my brother, cursed him, and screamed at him for what he did, what he was doing to his son while I was away. It took the strength of 3 bodyguards to peel me off. The bastard then had the audacity to walk away.

He walked away from his own son as he lay there dying of Fistula, a cracked skull, and a punctured lung and throat.

No words were exchanged as my brother walked away, but I knew that I was as good as dead; as dead as my own nephew lying on the bed before me.

I begged Lorenzo to help.

* * *

"Jesus Christ," Bradley said, "Are you saying that Baldo is-" 

"My nephew," Beneditto plainly said, "He's my flesh and blood. I did it to save his life."

"How?" Bradley started, "How'd you persuade Lorenzo to go with this?"

"I spilled my guts about the PRF. Maps, whereabouts of bosses, plans. Everything I knew about, I told to Lorenzo and the higher-ups. I also gave up my identity for security reasons; I now live and work here in Section Two as a full-time agent under the alias 'Beneditto DaVinci', working the same schedules as the cyborgs. I can't go back to the way I was. To do so would be certain death at the hands of my own brother."

"Benny!" Baldo interrupted the men's conversation, "Everything's set up. Shoud I start?"

"Wait for me," Beneditto stood from his seat, "I have no idea why I told you all of this, General. Maybe it's because this is the first time I've spoken to a real father. Thanks, General."

"For what?" Bradley wondered.

"For the therapy session in disguise. For letting me vent what I wanted to say ever since I joined Section Two."

"No problem…"

"One last thing, General. You still haven't answered my question."

"If one of my children were to die, would I do anything to bring them back to life?"

"Well would you do anything to get them back?"

"You're damn right I would. Even if it meant playing god, I'd do anything for my children."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Beneditto turned to his cyborg, "Alright boy-o, let's get to work."

Bradley examined the man now known as Beneditto as he walked to his cyborg. He knew that underneath that proud and youthful exterior was a distraught man who knew full well that he'd never get his true nephew back, yet he continued working with the boy.

Bradley realized that he had to reexamine the very definition of the word "Father".

_**End chapter Five**_

_**Coming soon:**_

_**Chapter Six: Explosions**_


	7. Chapter Six: Explosions

_Note: While writing the chapter "Explosions", I realized that I was advancing the story way too fast without giving any kind of premonitions or background as to what's happening. Also, I felt that I was skipping my main point of this story (the relationship between Bradley and Claes) and turning it into something else. _

_As an amateur writer (and a mild perfectionist), I can't allow this to happen…_

_**Important note #2 (7/5/2006):** I've been contemplating this for several days, and I have finally concluded that the direction I was headed with this story was completely off, and wrong. Most of the time, a writer NEVER plans out his story, only the beginning, any plot twists, and endings are set into stone, and everything else in the middle is made up along the way (Author of the Harry Potter series, J.K. Rowling uses this strategy). Usually, this is beneficial, as it makes for an interesting read. However, in rare instances, it fails… BADLY. Chapters 7-12 were victims of that rare occurrence._

_You see, before writing past chapter one, I had the timeline of the story neatly laid out on a note card. But, following my own advice, I didn't pay any attention to it, and instead, made something up along the way. Then, I wrote Chapter 12… and was stuck. I realized that I was centering the entire story on Bradley and not the Bradley/Claes relationship that this story was supposed to be. It was also never supposed to be a R.O.D. cross-over; only references were to be made._

_I decided to start anew where I began to trail off: Chapter six.  
_

_To all the old readers: Welcome to the new and (in my opinion) improved Life, Liberty, And…_

_To new readers and to those who adored where the original "LLA" was headed: **The original chapters (including the completed-but-not-posted chapters) will be uploaded once the true story ends.**_

_This chapter is almost intact, since this is where I began to stray. If you don't want to read it, basically Rei was never supposed to get pregnant which leads to the visit to Japan.  
_

_

* * *

_

"You know," Bradley spoke to Beneditto, "You just messed up back there."

"How so, General?" The man asked.

"You gave me you're real name…," Bradley smiled, "If I were working for the P.R.F. you'd be dead riiiiight now."

"Shit…," Beneditto sighed, "There I go with my big mouth again..."

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

_**Chapter Six: Explosions**_

**_Social Welfare Agency: Claes and Triela's Room, Rome, Italy; 1200 hours, July 3, 2005_**

"Aren't you excited?" Triela asked. She was busy sewing new clothes for her bears, preparing them for the upcoming autumn. It was a hassle for her to change her bears' clothes every season, but she wanted to keep up with the fashion trends she read about in magazines that Hillshire bought her every so often.

Claes didn't bother to look at her companion as she responded; her nose deeply buried within some sort of science fiction novel that she read several times beforehand.

"Not really," The girl was nonchalant, "Why should I be?"

"It's the first time you're going outside the Agency on leisure time," Triela took extra care not to mention the past antics of Raballo so that Claes wouldn't suffer from some sort of mental trauma, "And you aren't the least bit excited?"

"Brad is just taking me to a book store," Claes yawned, "And then we're going to the airport to pick up Miss Ayanami. It's not like we're going to paint the town red, or something."

"You're such a bookworm, you know that?"

"Hush, I'm reading."

"When are you ever not reading?" Triela asked as knocks simultaneously came from the door, "Don't bother getting up, I'll answer it."

Triela opened the door to reveal Bradley as the visitor. Instantly the girl stood at attention and saluted; an action that partly sickened, partly impressed, and partly annoyed The General.

"Please," Bradley said, "Never salute to me again. I don't allow Claes to do it, and neither should any of you children. Just act like I'm your uncle or something."

Triela lowered her hand; a confused look was on her face, "I wouldn't know how to act, General, since I've never had an uncle."

"Right…," Bradley thought for a bit, "Then maybe you could act like I'm Hillshire?"

"Trust me, General, you wouldn't like it." Triela appeared as though she were about to vomit.

"You don't like Hillshire, eh?" He thought for another moment, "Well fine, just pretend that I'm one of you guys."

Triela was now annoyed at Bradley's lame attempts to befriend her, yet she decided to play along.

"Whatever," The girl rolled her eyes; she was unable to hide her smile, "Come on in, boy, and help me sew these clothes for my bears."

"That's the spirit!" Bradley laughed, following the girl into her room, "I'm not very good at sewing, but I'll see what I can do."

"Don't bother, Brad, she'll just boot you out when she's done using you," Claes sat up from her bed, "You can never trust blonde girls, especially the tanned variety."

Triela retaliated by throwing a handful of cloth at Claes' face, "Go back to reading, bookworm, I'm going to borrow The General for a bit."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but Brad and I are on a tight schedule," She casually jumped from her bed and onto the floor, "Let's go, sir, before she puts a spell on you."

"Hold on for a minute, Claes," Bradley said, "Triela, you seem to be the leader amongst the children here, so I was hoping that you could do me a little favor?"

"What is it, sir?"

"Claes, you're gonna have to keep this a secret as well…"

**_Rome Fiumicino Leonardo Da Vinci Airport, Rome, Italy; 1400 hours, Same Day_**

Sitting at a table in front of the same Café that Jose and Henrietta sat just weeks earlier, Claes was once again buried in one of the many books that Bradley bought her in their trip to the nearby bookstore. 15 minutes (and the fact that Bradley was willing to spend as much as she required) was all it took for the girl to run amongst the shelves and pick out the books that she wanted, or rather, books that she _needed _to read.

Orwell, Hemmingway, Shakespeare, Tzu, Buck, Card; these were but a handful of the authors that Claes used to fantasize about, wishing that one day she would be able to read even one of their many titles. And now her dream was a reality.

Bradley pondered over the character of his partner. In essence, the girl was a true bibliophile, an absolute lover of anything that can be read. Sipping his cup of tea, he took a gander at her, realizing that Claes reminded him of a certain other bibliophile that he read about, glasses and all….

Seemingly out of nowhere, a familiar voice called out to him, breaking his train of thought in the process. He recognized his soon-to-be Daughter-in-law as she dragged a pair of rather heavy looking suit cases behind her. He quickly ran to her assistance.

"It's great to see you again, Rei," was the first thing that was said between them, "How was California?"

"It's great to see you again as well, Sir," Rei gave Bradley a tight hug; a strange sight for Claes to behold, considering that she only knew the both of them to be hardworking military personnel "California was awesome as always. Its shame I had to leave it."

Bradley sighed, "Duty calls," He took her bags from her hands, "Come on, we're heading back before there's any traffic.

_**On the road to the SWA, Rome, Italy; 1430 hours, Same Day**_

Claes sat quietly in the rear passenger seat of the vehicle, reading one of her new books, and ignoring the meaningless adult chatter coming from Bradley and Rei's mouths. It wasn't until her name was mentioned that she lifted her attention away from her book.

"So why'd you bring Claes with you?" Rei asked Bradley.

Claes' ears began to feel warm.

"I just thought she'd like to spend some time away from the Agency," Braldey nearly sighed, "She's been working hard, and I thought that she earned a break."

"Oh," Rei said, "I see that you went to the bookstore; seems appropriate for her, I guess."

"Eh," Bradley shrugged, "It's what she wanted."

Rei truend around from her seat, and asked Claes, "You like to read?"

Claes gave a slight nod.

"I don't really like reading." Rei said, returning to her original position.

Bradley shrugged again, "It's her way of relaxing. She's only human, after all."

Claes' ears were now in flames.

**_Social Welfare Agency: Cyborg Dormitory, Rome, Italy; 1600 hours, Same Day_**

"I'm grateful for the books you purchased for me today, sir." Claes said as Bradley escorted her back to her room; they had already dropped Rei off at her quarters.

"I didn't buy them," He began, "It was your money, so technically you bought them yourself."

Claes thought for a moment, "Well then, thank you for the ride to the store." She smiled to herself.

"Now there's a rare sight." Bradley commented on her expression.

"Ahem," Claes quickly covered her mouth, "I'm not a ghoul, you know."

"Well you should smile more often. It's very becoming of you."

"Please, flattery will do you no good."

Upon reaching her room, Claes knocked on the door, a rule that she and Triela made so as not to disturb each other while doing something private.

"Who is it?" Triela called from inside.

"I'm back," Claes responded, "Hurry up and let me in. These things are heavy."

"Yeah, yeah , yeah," Triela groaned, "What'd you get me?"

"Some books," Claes said as her roommate opened the door, "You should try reading this. I think it describes your relationship with Hillshire with great accuracy." She shoved a book into Triela's face.

"Lolita," Triela read aloud, "By Vladimir Nabokov…"

Bradley shook his head, realizing what Claes was hinting at.

"I'll read it later." Triela returned to her coffee table and tossed the book aside.

"That reminds me," Bradley still stood at the doorway, "Did you do that little favor for me?"

"I got the Snipers from the 95th to comply," She was referring to the battalion that just arrived from the U.S., "And some of the MPs and off-duty agents are willing to give a hand. Also that stupid Nacho overheard me while I was talking to Amadeo and he wants in on the plan. They're ready whenever you are…boy." She grinned.

"Excellent," Bradley rubbed his hands together, "And now for the coup de grace… Triela? Claes? Would you like to company me while I retrieve to goods?"

"I'd rather stay here and read, sir," Claes was already laying belly-side down on her bed, "If you don't mind, that is."

"I'll go sir," Triela said, "Hillshire is out of town on business, so he won't be a bother."

"Good. Let's go get Nacho… and some snacks as well. It's a long drive to Naples, so it's good to be prepared," Bradley turned to his partner, "I have something planned for tomorrow after P.T.; so don't stay up too late." He knew that the cyborgs didn't require much sleep, but he wanted Claes to develop good habits.

"Yes, sir." Claes mock saluted him by using only two fingers.

"See you tomorrow then."

**_Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 0800 hours, July 4, 2005_**

"So what do you have planned for today, Brad?" Claes asked as she stripped a clip of 9mm paint rounds into one of the magazines for her H&K MP5 sub-machinegun.

"Well," Bradley started, "I was planning for you and I to run the obstacle course with full tactical gear equipped, but I found out that this building is also an excellent Hogan's alley."

The both of them stood in front of the same bullet-riddled building that the other Fratello used for their "exhibition" a month earlier.

"Piece of cake." Claes said as she finished topping off the last of her supplied magazines. She loaded her firearm with a fresh magazine and chambered a round.

"Woah there, cowgirl," Bradley waved a finger in her face, "Don't be in such a rush. I didn't even tell you the plan yet."

"I thought the plan was for me to go in there and get rid of all the targets?"

"Being the lone wolf is not always a good thing, Claes," Bradley said, "I want to get this mentality into your head as soon as possible, lest you become some sort of a loner. I want you to be prepared for **any** situation, especially the ones that you would **never **expect."

"So you're running the course with me as well?"

"Not only that, but for the first few runs I'll be the leader so that you can have an idea as to what a real tactical situation calls for. Our goal is to reach the heli-pad on the roof in as little time as possible. I already asked Jose and Ferro to program the targets to attack and return fire using paint rounds, so be ready. I'm hoping to have a go at this thing at least 5 times today and have a time of less than 10 minutes. Furthermore, this will be a silent exercise, which means no talking until the exercise is completed, you understand?"

"Not really, sir," She rechecked her equipment, "Why a silent run?"

"Talking is a luxury when in a combat zone. Any kind of sound will alert your enemy to your position, which obviously leads to a firefight; something that you want to avoid at all times. Just recall everything you learned up to now. You still remember all the hand-signals right?"

"Yes I do."

"Ready to go?" Bradley asked his partner.

"'Course I am," Claes replied as she tightened the laces on her boots, "How about you? Seeing the way you were running earlier makes me think you should sit this one out."

Bradley clutched his chest, "Ouch!" He laughed, "I'll be fine, so don't you worry about me too much. Just follow my lead, and make sure you don't fall behind."

"I guess so," She adjusted her bare-fingered leather gloves, "Before we start, though, may I ask one last question?"

"Go ahead."

"Do you think I'm ready for this?"

Bradley didn't even have to think about an answer, "That's something for you to decide, and for me to find out."

"Ok, General," Ferro's voice came from loudspeakers planted on the exterior of the building, "Everything's set to go. Jose and I are just waiting for your word."

"Any doubts left in your mind, Claes?" Bradley asked her, "Because if there is, this is your last chance to bail out."

The girl didn't answer.

"Allright the, just follow my lead."

Satisfied, Bradley signaled a thumbs-up to the nearest security camera, and indication that both he and Claes were ready.

"Time starts now." Ferro said, unleashing the pair of combatants.

**_Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 1245 hours, Same Day_**

"Good job, sir, this is your fastest run so far," Jose spoke to his superior through a microphone, "Round number 3: 35 kills, 24 wounded. You time is 15 minutes 43 seconds."

Bradley nodded his head, knowing that Jose could see him through security cameras.

"All right, sir, I'll have Henrietta reset all the targets."

Satisfied with the statistics that were reported to him, Bradley sat upon the concrete floor, taking a deep breath as he did so. He studied his partner/student as she paced back and forth, appearing as anxious as ever to resume training. But then, something odd caught Bradley's attention; something about the way she walked.

"Claes," Bradley said, "Are you okay?"

This was the first time in hours that Bradley had spoken to her.

"I'm fine." She casually replied.

"Don't lie to me," He motioned for her to stand next to him, "Come over here and let me see your left foot."

Sighing to herself, she complied with his orders; standing next to her partner and holding up her left leg. Bradley took hold of her foot and began inspecting it, noting that it was about half a size smaller than what she needed.

"These boots are way too small. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It really isn't a problem, sir," She tried to take her leg back from the man; "I'll just go to the hospital later to check it out."

"No," Bradley motioned for the girl to sit, "Get down here and let me take a closer look."

"I don't see the point, Brad. Doctor Bianchi can easily repair any damage I take."

"I refuse to allow you to take any more of that god forsaken drug, Claes. Not a single drop."

"It helps me to heal faster."

"No it does not," Bradley nearly growled, "What it does is make you depend on it, and not on your own abilities. Now sit down before I make you."

"Yes, sir." She hissed. She sat across from him and placed her left foot on his lap.

Bradley removed her boot, "See this?" He pointed to a red, half-swollen area near the root of her big toe, "Keep wearing these boots, and this could turn into a bunion over time. Eventually it'll be painful to walk even without shoes or boots on. You'll soon be in a leadership position, so I don't want you to hurt yourself." He started to massage her foot.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"My daughters love to dance," He began, "Those dancing shoes are really a pain for them. I do this after every one of their lessons so that they can go to sleep at night."

"General," Henrietta interrupted from the roof-access stairway, "I've reset all the targets."

"Excellent work, Henrietta," He praised her; "I think this is a good time for a break, so go tell Jose and Ferro. Also, have Jose fetch a pair of size 5 boots for Claes."

"Yes sir." Henrietta quickly saluted and disappeared, leaving Bradley and Claes alone once again.

"Mmm…" Claes fell to her back and rested on the floor, a combination of both fatigue on her lower back, and pleasure from her foot caused her to do so.

"Maybe I should have Olga give you ballet lessons." Bradley joked.

"You must be kidding," Claes said, "She's Russian; she'll work me to death. Besides, I'd much rather read during my free time."

"Aww come on," Bradley urged her on; "It won't hurt to have at least one extracurricular activity."

"I tend to my garden 4 times a week." She replied as-a-matter-of-factly.

"What about between those times?"

"Well I do play the Piano, but I don't think I'm any good."

"I'm sure you are," Bradley reassured her, "You'll have to play for me one day. What else do you do for fun?"

"Sometimes I paint. You know the usual stuff like the surrounding scenery, trees, birds, and etcetera."

"You like to read a lot," Bradley said, "You like to write as well?"

Bradley could tell that she was blushing. It was a few moments before she answered.

"…Sometimes I write… fan fictions."

"Oh god…" Bradley joked. Claes hoisted herself with her elbows, shooting a piercing glare at him.

"I'm just kidding! Writing is a good way to expand your vocabulary."

Claes grunted, not knowing whether he was joking with the last statement or not. She returned to the floor, continuing to enjoy the free massage.

"Don't you have any other interests? Learning another language, perhaps? Want to learn how to play another instrument? I could have my son send a guitar and training manuals from home. Learn Japanese and how to play guitar at the same time, ya know?"

"No thanks." She silently wished for him to stop talking so that she could bask in the sun and enjoy the foot massage.

Bradley shook his head. He gave up trying to persuade her to take in another activity. "You're weird, you know that?"

"Not as weird as you, sir."

"That reminds me. I hope you aren't too busy reading tonight. I have something special planned for you and the rest of the agency."

"Oh?" Claes wondered, "What's this plan of yours consist, sir?"

"You'll see," He said with a smile, "Just make sure you aren't busy around 9 o'clock."

**_Social Welfare Agency: Claes and Triela's Room, Rome, Italy; 2130 hours, Same Day_**

"And thus another story is completed." Claes happily closed a novel that she just finished reading. The sci-fi title War of the Worlds wasn't really her kind of story, yet she enjoyed every minute of it just like the rest of her collection.

She leaped off her bed and onto the floor, taking extra care not to make much noise for the sleeping…

"Triela?" She noticed that her roommate's bed was completely empty. As if Triela pressed herself flat against the bed, Claes pushed Triela's bed sheets out of the way to reveal nothing.

"Odd…," Claes straightened the sheets, as well her herself, "Oh well, more quiet time for me… unless this has something to do with what Brad was planning."

Sudden knocking came from her door, "Claes," Bradley called, "May I come in?"

"_Speak of the devil…,"_ Claes thought, "Come in."

Bradley entered the room with a gigantic smile pasted on his face. It was his trademark smile; a stupid looking, yet at the same time, a charming grin. Claes' ill thoughts disappeared as soon as she saw that smile.

"Hey there," Bradley began, "Are you ready to go?"

"Go?" Claes wondered, "Go where?"

"Come on," He took hold of her hand, "Everyone's already there."

"Wait a minute!" she struggled to stay upright as her partner dragged her out of the room, "Everyone's already where? Brad! What are you doing?"

As soon as she finished her sentence, she was shoved into the passenger seat of Brad's SUV.

"Where are we going?" She asked as he sat at the helm, "This better be good."

"Trust me, you'll love it." He started his vehicle and sped away from the Agency parking lot and toward the training grounds' outdoor firing range.

Claes shook her head. She was angry that she wasn't receiving a clear answer from Brad. Angry that she wasn't able to start a new book. Angry that she was literally dragged out of her room. Yet she wasn't directly angry at Bradley. His childish antics amused her, calming her every time he did something silly.

After a few minutes of driving, they came across what appeared to be--

"A festival?" Claes stared in awe at the red, white, and blue decorations. She noticed that about 50 or so people were scattered about the firing range. Some were gathered around what looked like a table filled with food; others were lounging about and chatting amongst themselves. She even spotted her fellow cyborgs; each one of them smiling and enjoying the company of each other. Even the normally glum Angelica was laughing as she spoke with Rei.

"Actually we Americans hardly use the word 'fesitval' anymore," Bradley parked his SUV a few yards away from the crowd; "It's a party."

"Party?" Claes exited the car, "Party for what?"

"Hold on," He checked his watch, "And the display begins…now!"

Claes was startled by a heart stopping thud heard in the distance. Directly ahead of the bullet-stopping sand dune, a flare shot straight into the sky. The girl followed the flare until it exploded into a rainbow of bright and vibrant colors. Seconds later another flare shot into the air, and then another, each followed by a burst of flower shaped explosions. Soon a barrage of flares and explosions of every color of the spectrum filled the sky.

"Well?" Bradley stood next to his partner, "How do you like it?"

"It's…," She was unable to move her eyes away from the sight, "It's amazing. What's all this for anyways?"

"Claes," He patted her head, "Show me that I didn't waste my time on this Independence Day. The next few months will be an upward struggle. Today's exercise was nothing compared to what's coming up."

"I'm ready for anything, sir."

"Excellent," he said, "Happy 4th of July Claes."

_**End chapter Six**_


	8. Chapter Seven: Reality

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Seven: Reality_**

**_Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 0900 hours, July 5, 2005_**

The same building that Claes and Bradley used the other day – now dubbed "Lorenzo's Alley" by Bradley – was prepped once more. Jose, Henrietta and Ferro were reprising their roles as the surveyors and technicians, and Bradley and Claes were again in the shoes of attackers.

However, there was a slight change in plans.

"Yesterday, I led throughout the entire exercise," Bradley said as he and Claes geared up, "Now it's time for you to lead me through. I want you to shoot for at least 15 minutes, just like our fastest time yesterday."

"Well, I'll do the best that I can." Claes said unenthusiastically.

"You can do better than that." Bradley nudged her arm.

"You want me to lie and say something like, 'We're gonna beat that time and then some!'." She mocked the older man's voice.

"There ya go!" He patted her back, "Remember: morale is the beast weapon you can give to your teammates."

"General," Jose interrupted via radio transmission, "The attack targets have been placed; everything is set to random configuration, random target placement, random obstacles, and random aggressiveness. We're ready on this end."

"Good—"

Claes interrupted him, "Wait! Everything's changed! How can I beat your time when I don't know enemy placements? There's even randomly placed barricades!"

Bradley's attitude changed in that instant; from a cheerful one to a completely serious tone, the man was different in every sense of the word.

"Tell me: do you expect every situation to be neatly laid out before you?"

"Of course not."

"Then deal with it. The more you get used to checking, rechecking, and triple-checking your surroundings, the faster it becomes second nature."

Claes wasn't expecting such a harsh response.

"Well if that's the case, why didn't you set everything to random yesterday?"

As quickly as it appeared, Bradley's serious mood disappeared.

"I'm old remember?" He joked, "You can't expect me to be paranoid all the time, can you?"

Claes was furious, emotionally hurt, and mentally tired; yet for some reason she laughed out loud. The sheer wit the man seemed to store in his head gave him such a natural vibe that she couldn't help but not be angry with him.

"Alright, time for equipment check," she said between laughs and sniffles, "Radio: loud and clear. Armor: strapped in and solid. Weapons: loaded," She waited for Bradley to repeat her words.

He did so and she said, "Jose, sir, we're ready."

"Alright, you two, "Jose replied, "Time starts… now."

**_Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 2200 hours, July 4, 2005_**

_**

* * *

**_

_(Bradley: Narrator)_

I didn't know whether Claes was unsociable at the time, or whether she was mesmerized at the bursting colors in the sky, but she kept to herself that night, only taking short moments to refill her glass of soda, or juice, or whatever it is that little girls drink in Italy.

From the time she excused herself from me, up until the fireworks stopped launching, I kept a close observation on her. Her eyes would always trail the nearest flare until it exploded; in which case her mouth would jar slightly, obviously in awe at the size, sound, and vibrancy of the colored flames.

Only when the mortars ceased did I approach her.

"How'd you like them?" I sat down on the dirt next to her, but far enough to not make her feel uncomfortable (a tactic I learned from raising 4 daughters).

"You must have spent a lot of time preparing this," She adjusted her glasses, "Thank you."

"No problem," I lied, "I do this every year: surprising my men with some sort of display for Independence Day to celebrate something we achieved the few months before, and set new goals. You know; kind of like a middle-of-the-year new year's celebration - a sort of day for reflecting, but looking ahead at the same time."

"I see."

I hoped that she caught the symbolism that I half-assed and pulled out of nowhere. When we first partnered up, she only did so to prove that she could be an effective member of the SWA, aside from being a guinea pig; so I figured that a celebration of independence would be a good start…

The smirk on her face was all the confirmation I needed…

* * *

**_Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 0901 hours, July 5, 2005_**

Approaching the entry of the building, Claes signaled for Bradley to stay as low as possible whilst keeping up with her pace. A few seconds later, she realized that what she ordered fro him to do was easy for her to accomplish, but difficult for him.

She reissued another set of orders via hand signals, "Stay low. Take point. Scan for activity."

Being the well trained soldier he was, Bradley instantly obeyed. He rushed to the side of the entrance, stopping only to lean against the wall and peer inside. When no targets were sighted, he signaled for Claes to come over.

Once at his side, she signaled another set of orders with her hands, "Stay low. Take the left side. I'll take the right."

Bradley nodded, and began to go to work in sync with Claes' movements.

"Impressive," Ferro noted from within the monitor room, "Where'd she learn all that?"

"Gen—excuse me—Bradley taught her a few weeks ago." Jose almost forgot that he was never to be referred to as "General", since he was posing as an agent of the SWA, and that he was reminded by Bradley himself last night.

"Seems like we'll have to implement this as a standard part of all the cyborg's training from now on."

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ferro had a sheepish grin, "You can't rely on radio communication all the time. Plus there have been mission that required complete silence."

"Hmm," Jose thought, "But then… we'd be out of the job, now wouldn't we?"

The hair on the back of Henrietta's neck stood straight up, "If that's the case, then we don't need to learn hand signals, because we're already doing a fine job as it is!"

Jose smiled, "I was just joking, Henrietta."

The girl relaxed in her seat.

While their conversation went on, Bradley and Claes already reached the halfway mark, passing the middle rooms of the 3rd floor and making their way to the other end where the stairs leading to the 4th floor waited. Along the way, Claes discovered that Each of the two stairways only gave access to certain floors. The first stairway only reached the 2nd floor, which meant that they had to run through the second floor to get to the other stairway, which only allowed for them to reach the 3rd floor. Such zigzagging was very time consuming, also causing her to be a little disoriented in the process. A brief pause was in order.

Claes ordered a halt; the area ahead was a maze of cubicles: a prime location for an ambush. At the wall to her left was the room that she remembered was used as a rendezvous point for the boys' team a few days back. To her right was what appeared to be a cafeteria of sorts. She ran through several scenarios in her mind.

The right path was certain doom; open space is dangerous for stealth assignments. The left would be the safer route. However, if her instincts were right, then an ambush by paper targets armed with paintball markers would be inevitable, yet it was still the safest route, giving them a slight chance of surviving the attack by taking cover inside the office and returning fire when the targets needed to reload. Another hazard was that since the targets were extremely aggressive, radio communications between attacking targets and idle ones would be sure to happen, forcing the pair to either "Hail Mary" the rest of the building to the heli-pad, or the simply give up and start over. Failing her first practice run would definitely bode well for her.

Though advancing toward the 4th floor access using the most obvious routes was not a well planned out strategy (and who could blame the first timer?) she was determined not to fail. Another option – besides moving forward, was to retreat back to the 3rd floor stair access and scale their way toward the 5th floor. Too much time would be wasted, however, and that was something she didn't want. Then again, it was her first time leading someone through this course without speaking, so maybe Bradley would give her a bit of leeway?

"_At least finish the god damned thing!" _She repeated in her mind, while mentally banging her head against a mental wall for not thinking about other routes.

She chose to move along the left and into the office to fend off an attack. Probably not the wisest of decisions, but it was at least a decision; she had already spent too much time figuring out which way to go.

She signaled for Bradley to sit and wait at the edge of the cubicle walls, covering her while she entered the office along the left wall. Once she was in, Bradley followed, only to be discovered by a trio of wandering paper silhouettes.

Immediately they began their attack, spraying a volley of paint rounds in Bradley's direction as he scurried his way into the room from which Claes returned fire through the open doorway. She easily disabled the targets, but more would surely be on their way.

Once Bradley sat next to Claes, he furiously rubbed his forehead and made several other gestures of disapproval including smacking his helmet, flicking hers, and gesturing his arms in a "What the hell?" manner.

Claes was obviously hurt; her goggles began to fog up, either from heavy breathing, or from warm tears. That sadness only lasted for a few minutes, however, as another wave of wheeled paper men advanced toward their position.

Instinct now told her to take cover.

A round object suddenly flew past her head, landing on the floor next to where she and Bradley sat. She shut her eye lids, reacting to the flash bang grenade.

Bradley was not quick enough.

With his vision impaired (his hearing was not of importance in this particular exercise), Claes pulled him away from the open door, returning fire without any regard for her own safety.

Once the wave of 5 or so targets was subdued, she turned her attention toward her injured partner. Following procedures that Bradley lectured her on, she removed his goggles and parted the eyelids of one of his eyes. His pupil was contracted to its most minimum size, begging for whatever source of light to disappear. Bradley wiped her hands away from his face. He was obviously in too much pain to go on.

"_So much for completing the run…"_

It was only a matter of time before more targets wheeled themselves into the cubicle maze and toward the office in which they sat.

Claes bore the brunt of the salvo of paintballs.

**_Social Welfare Agency: Hospital, Rome, Italy; 1000 hours, July 5, 2005_**

Claes, still dressed as if she just came from an urban battlefield, stood beside Bradley, who lay – also fully clothed, on a hospital bed. Injuries to his eyes were minor, but the pain she felt was a million times more severe.

"Don't worry 'bout it," Bradley kept telling her, "I've been the victim of a few flash grenades in my time."

Claes could not remove her fault from her mind, "It's my fault you're like this."

"Actually, I blame father time…" Bradley tried a shot at a joke, though it failed horribly.

"I saw the grenade coming a thousand miles away, but I only covered myself."

"Basic instincts," Bradley laughed, "Not your fault."

"But I'm supposed to be the one who protects you."

"And why is that?"

"I am the cyborg, and you are my handler," Though Bradley could not see, Claes never looked up from the floor, "I'm supposed to protect my handler at all times."

"Well there's your problem."

Claes lifted her head, "Huh?"

"I never said I was your handler."


	9. Chapter Eight: Eureka

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Eight: Eureka_**

**_Social Welfare Agency: Training Grounds, Rome, Italy; 1100 hours, August 6, 2005_**

Following a short time after Bradley's little mishap; training was resumed within Lorenzo's alley. Claes eventually got comfortable with the idea of leading Bradley around with hand signals and, when the time came for speech to be implemented into the exercise, Bradley thought it would be best for him to stay in the sidelines and be replaced by a handful of Claes' peers.

"That's what I'm here for; anyway," Bradley told the abnormally nervous girl, "It'll be like leading 3 of me around."

Claes faked a dry heave.

"Oh, ha ha. Very funny."

Claes sighed, "So who's tagging along?"

"Rico, Baldasarre, and Angelica."

Claes dry heaved again, "Baldo? Why him?"

"You need to get used to squad mates that differ in personalities. You aren't going to be assigned the same person all the time, so learn to adapt."

"Ok. But why Angelica?"

"Chief Lorenzo is encouraging Marco to gradually reintroduce her into combat. Your first time being in a squad is also hers."

"Wait," Claes said, "This isn't my first time in a squad. I've done a handful of missions where I worked together with the others."

"In those particular missions, you were directed by someone in what to do. In this particular case, the steering wheel is yours. You have one goal; how you go about reaching that goal is completely up to you."

Claes gulped.

"Eventually, you'll be the one setting the goals."

* * *

_(Bradley: Narrator)_

Saying I was nervous about this exercise was only the half of it; if it were not for the air-conditioning, the sweat that I was producing would have drowned the four of us in the monitor room.

The four of us being Jean, Marco, Beneditto, and myself.

Since the past few weeks, Beneditto and I have become quite good friends. We opted to share notes about our respective child was handling the situation presented before them. Marco, apparently dissatisfied with Angelica's behavior, leaned against the wall closest to the exit, not bothering to take notes, and grunting whevener he found the slightest error that she made, even though this was her first time obeying the orders of a fellow cyborg. Jean sat with Benedittio and I, though was not interested in adding to our comments.

Speaking of Jean, I came to find out that he and my son seem to be the best of friends. I often find them chatting together with Jose during lunch, and many times during dinner. Jean and I have had a rather shaky start between us, and whenever I try to approach join my son for lunch, or approach the man, he magically has "work to do".

Apparently he likes to hold grudges.

My thoughts were interrupted when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw on one of the monitors Angelica being repeatedly shot upon by mobile targets. I quickly sent a command to the 'bots to cease, effectively restarting the entire exercise.

I sighed, "Sorry about that. Everyone head back and reload. We'll start from the beginning."

Claes and Rico rushed to Angelica's aid, while Baldo groaned and complained, forcing me to lower the volume of my headset.

"I can see he's enthusiastic about this." I said.

"Nah," Beneditto said, "He just has this thing against Claes; just doesn't like being around her, you see."

"The flower thing?"

"How'd you find out?"

"A little bird…"

I was interrupted from my thoughts once more, only this time by the angry voice of Marco, who was growling into his microphone at Angelica.

"How could you trail that far behind? Are you stupid? You always keep up with your squad! Always!"

I didn't have access to Angelica's mic signal, but I could tell from images I saw on the monitor that she was apologizing, almost tearing up while doing so.

"'Sorry' ain't gonna cut it. After this shit is over, you're going to run 'till you drop dead."

I couldn't take any more of this foul conversation, "If you want her to be a good runner, then you might as well take her out now and train her to be an Olympic sprinter."

Marco chose to ignore me.

"Running won't do shit, Marco. You ever heard of 'Practice makes perfect'? Angelica just needs more practice; not everybody gets stuff down in an instant."

"Bull," Marco spat, "They're cyborgs, they should get this stuff down the instant they hear it."

"Then tell me why is it that every one of the fratellos continues to practice on the range? Why they continue to run drills, through this building?"

He had no answer.

"You're too much of an impatient man, Marco. Settle down a bit, and she'll be in top shape before you know it."

Just as I expected (and truthfully, what I wished), Marco stormed out of the room. I had a gut feeling that he was headed where Angelica was resting, so I took a moment to caution him.

"Touch her and I'll make sure you pay for it," I saw him pause on one of the monitors, "If you don't want to continue training her, then I will."

Needless to say, I had no idea what I got myself into.

* * *

**_Social Welfare Agency, Rome, Italy; 1800 hours, August 6, 2005_**

Wandering aimlessly around the complex, Bradley wanted to be with his own thoughts, so he dismissed Claes for the rest of the night.

After Claes' first taste of leading a squad, he approached Angelica, who patiently waited outside the locker room for Marco to retrieve her. She didn't know that Bradley excused her handler.

"Hey there," He approached her, "Marco's gone, I'm here to pick you up."

"Hell, sir. Do you know where he went?"

"I don't really know, but he said he'd be back later on tonight."

"Ok," She seemed cheerful, "I'll just wait here until her returns."

"Actually, he'll be gone for a while, so he told me to keep an eye on you."

"I'll be fine sir," She smiled, "I can wait."

"I think it's better if you just come with me."

"Marco ordered me to wait for him. I'm sorry, sir, but I'm going to wait for him, or else he'll be mad at me."

Bradley was going to continue bartering with her, but was interrupted by a passerby.

"It's no use, Bradley," Jean said, "Unless the situation calls for it, these cyborgs will not comply with anyone else's orders other than their handler."

"Thanks for the tip," Bradley said, "But Angelica is a smart little girl. Aren't you?"

The girl smiled, but didn't respond.

"You're a fool to treat them like real children. They don't think; they only do."

With that, Jean exited the building with Rico following closely behind; no emotion was found on her face.

After reflecting upon today's events, Bradley found himself in the cafeteria. With only a few other agents scattered about, he decided that this would be a good place to stop and rest. His rest was short lived, though, as Hillshire joined him.

"How's life?" Hillshire asked a rhetoric question.

"Biting me in the ass," Bradley joked, "Seems like Marco and Jean seem to have taken a disliking toward me."

"Really? I haven't noticed," Whether Hillshire was being sarcastic of not was unknown, "I understand why Marco is the way he is, but I don't see Jean being spiteful towards you – as unsociable as he is. He and Percival get along pretty well."

"Oh? Why is Marco the way he is?"

"Frustration," Hillshire said, "Angelica is one of the first to undergo conditioning, so the old bugs that were worked out later on were never implemented."

"Bugs like?"

"Long term memory loss, muscle failure, epileptic seizures, the list goes on."

"Why not just forego the usage of the drug?"

"Well," he hesitated a bit before continuing, "She's sort of dependant on it."

"Bullshit."

"No it's true."

Bradley shook his head in dissatisfaction, "Any addiction can be overcome with time. I'll have a word with him whenever he gets back," He then changed the subject, "Hey, are you going to use Triela tomorrow?"

"No, we're off for the week. You have something in mind?"

**_Vatican City, Italy; 1100 hours, August 7, 2005_**

* * *

_(Bradley:narrator)_

Now here was an odd situation: 2 adult men and 5 children (namely Henrietta, Claes, Triela, Rico and Baldo) walking the premises of the Vatican for Sunday mass. I missed every mass since I arrived in Italy and what better way to make up for it than to show up for one at the home of Catholicism?

I also took the opportunity to discuss to the children the advantages of religion, any religion, not just this one. Although there was no regulation against bringing a cyborg into curch, I was warned by Hillshire last night that introducing the aspect of religion to the cyborgs was not recommended, since it might cause them to question their roles as killers.

However, he retracted his statement when he allowed Triela to come along, saying something along the lines of, "She curses Jesus and god so much that she practically knows them."

Beneditto also had no objections for having Baldo come along. In fact, he often times brings Baldo along to their local parish, saying that that's what he used to do when Baldo was "normal".

Jose's opinion on the matter was that it would do more good than harm, so instead of just acting as my assistant, he brought Henrietta along as well. Claes was of the same opinion.

And then there's Rico, the girl who happened to be so curious about this place that she decided to tag along. Jean was away for the week, and she had nothing else to do. However, her reason for coming was not for the sermon, but to be the third pair of hands to keep the cyborgs in line.

Not fully content with that reason, I asked her about the sermon once it was finished.

"What do you think?" I asked, "It was very violent back then, no?"

"I think so," She pondered, "But I think the point of telling us about all that violence was to show us what would happen if we did something like that, and how we could repent for it."

I recoiled at her answer. It wasn't something that I expected; she was actually listening to the sermon and had actually formed an opinion of it.

"I also think that since not everyone studies the sciences," She continued, "Religion helps ease the feeling of the unknown and explain a phenomenon by way of supernatural behaviors. So instead of say, explaining how we came to be through the big bang theory and the introduction of carbon into other elements, sombody out there just created us from scratch because he wanted to."

"'_They only do', indeed," _I remembered Jean's quote, _"Jean'll have a field day with this."_

"Is that why you think people still believe in 1,000 year-old stories?" I asked her.

"Pretty much," Was her only response. I suppose she would have continued, were it not for Baldo's antics. I decided to let her restrain him.

I asked what was on Claes' mind after the mass.

"It was nice," She said, "A good way to waste a Sunday morning. I'll have to buy one of those bibles next time we go to the bookstore."

Eureka.


	10. Chapter Nine: Spirits of 1969

_Note: not as action packed as the other branch, eh? 'twas meant to be this way, though…_

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Nine: Spirits of 1969  
_**

_**

* * *

**_(Bradley: Narrator)

I knew Jean was going to find out about my little visit to The Vatican. How he did, I don't know, but I'll be damned if I said he was okay with bringing his Rico to church. He was furious; spouting this and that about "instilling worthless ideas" into her head. I didn't want to argue about it, of course, but he insisted. So I suggested an outing where we can talk as men and get some things off our chests.

Lord knows I had a mouthful to say to him as well.

**_Rome, Italy; 1200 hours, August 8, 2005_**

"I understand why Rico and Claes are coming along," Jean groaned as he sat in the passenger seat of my vehicle, "But why are Triela, Angelica, Baldo, and Nacho here as well?"

I smiled sheepishly, "I promised to their handlers that I'd keep an eye on them for today. As for Angelica… well, let's just say Marco needed to cool off for a while."

"Should have just left them at the agency," Jean mumbled, "They'll be less trouble over there."

I wanted to retort, but decided to save it for when we reached our destination.

"Where are we headed, anyway?" Jean asked.

"The Estate Romana Festival at the Piazza delle Coppelle," I smiled, "We'll have to walk the rest of the way."

I parked my car in an empty lot; ushering everyone out. Jean was none too happy about the destination that I chose, but he exited the car, nonetheless. Maybe he thought the setting wasn't as important as what he had to say to me.

It was only a short walk to the piazza, so it was only natural that Jean and I not exchange words just yet; though we did tell the kids behind us to catch up and stop gawking about. It was my decision to come to this festival, so it was I how paid for the entry fee. Once inside, our first goal was to find a quiet spot where Jean and I could talk; it was early afternoon and the place was suffering from a drought of tourists, so it was easy to find one: a half empty pub. Our second goal was to get the cyborgs off our backs.

Before I sent them off to wanter the fairgrounds, I handed Claes a stack of bills containing over 500 Euros. Needless to say, the girl was shocked at the amount of money I handed her.

"Why so much?" She asked in a suspicious tone.

"Go have some fun," I answered simply, "Take your time. Meet people. Eat lots of sweets." After shooing her away, she went to join her comrades, dividing the money and disappearing into one of the many gaming tents.

Meeting with Jean in one of the booths of the pub, I ordered for us 2 beers, two shot glasses, a 2-litre bottle of Everclear, and a bowl of peanuts (just for something to munch on); I was the standard tourist in the waitress's eyes.

Once the beers were served, Jean jumped straight into conversation, "Why did you bring Rico into a curch?" He was calm, "Putting ideas of creationism, sins, and what's right and wrong… it doesn't belong in a cyborg's head. We are the ones who tell them what is right and wrong, not the bible."

"I've never thought of the bible as a rule book for living," I sipped my beer, "I see it as an outline. Something you should do, but it's ultimately up to you to decide what you do."

"Well that right there means you're going to hell. The bible says that you have to follow their rules or else."

"The bible was written in a time of confusion; they didn't know what was going on with the world, with the Romans killing everyone and such, so the authors of the various bibles made rules against what the Romans thought was right," Another sip of beer, "But all that is beside the point. Why do you think me bringing Rico and the others to one church session is so bad? She was a little bored, so I thought she could waste the day with the rest of us instead of by herself."

"You put things into their minds, and they may start to revolt."

"They're children; why would they revolt?"

"Because they're cyborgs, not children. They only appear to be children; they're nothing but tools of the Government now."

I stayed calm, "You may see them that way, but I cannot. I can tell you've never had kids before, so I'll let that comment of yours slide."

"Don't tell me I know nothing about children!" He slammed his fists on the table.

I knew what he was implying, "Percival told me about your sister. I apologize for what I said."

His posture seemed to relax, "They're tools, Bradley. You think of them as anything else and you're dead. Putting ideas into their heads cause them to think outside the box, and for them, any out of the box thinking is dangerous."

"Why are you so scared when you have the conditioning to quell that?" I was sarcastic of course.

"You read what happened to Elsa, right?"

A gulp of beer for he and I, "Rico is a smart girl, I'm sure you know."

He had no response.

"She was actually indifferent toward the whole church thing, so you have nothing to worry about."

"I see…" He finally said.

"There's also one more thing I wanted to say."

"Hmm?"

"The other day, when I pointed my gun at you. I apologize for that; I don't know what I was thinking."

"How'd you do that?" He asked.

"Do what?"

"Pinning Rico to the ground as fast as you did. How in the hell were you able to do that?"

I smiled. Suddenly the mouthful I had to say to him evaporated into thin air, "They're children."

* * *

As soon as Bradley was out of sight, the boys – who apparently have prior knowledge of what to do in a festival outside the agency – suggested that they first fill their stomachs with sugar. 

"A necessary fuel." Baldo added with an evil grin.

"Candy…," Triela started, "…makes you fat."

"That's why you burn it off! Gelato for everyone!" Baldo led the group to a snack vendor's stand, ordering everyone a serving of extremely thick gelato. "Claes, I need 10 euro."

"I thought you were going to treat us?"

"Are you kidding? Benny has all my money."

She hesitantly handed him the bills.

Now with a taste for sweet foods, the cyborgs hungrily swept the food stands clean of anything that contained sugar or caffeine. It was addiction at it worst; even the normally quiet Angelica was laughing hysterically at each of Baldo and Nacho's unfunny jokes, ultimately following them around for the sheer hell of it, getting lost into a crowd of similarly aged children in an arcade tent. Since Claes carried all the money, those three were sure to find her. Wanting to burn off any extra energy – or in Triela's case, calories – Claes thought that a few of the brightly advertised electronic simulator would be a good start.

One of the brightest machines caught her attention. The title "House of the Dead 4: Special Edition" intrigued here even more. Horror stories were one of her infinite number of favorite genres.

"Let's try this out," She tugged at Rico's shirt, "Looks fun."

"O-ok." The poor girl had no choice but to follow.

"Approaching the machine, it dawned on her that she had no clue how to operate it, seeing as how it was her first time in an arcade. Then she spotted a device that appeared to accept euros…

"I wonder how much it costs?"

"2 Euros per game," A familiar voice from behind, "2 euros per player."

Claes quickly turned to find Nacho.

"Hmph," she grunted, "What's the matter? Lost?"

"Actually, yes," He was embarrassed to say so, "Baldo and Angelica ran off somewhere to get more candy and I lost them in the process. Have you ever played any of these games?"

"Not really, no," Claes admitted, "Have you?"

"Plenty of times. Benny oftentimes brings me along with Baldo, and we stop by some arcades in the shopping plaza. Want me to show you?"

She handed him 4 euros, "Please do."

"Rico and I are next," suddenly Triela was interested in the game, "We'll watch for now; see how this thing works and all."

Nacho agreed and pressed the "start" button. Claes was in for a wild ride. Even her training with firearms couldn't prepare her for the waves of mutated zombies that advanced toward her. She sprayed the oncoming wave until her submachine gun stopped firing. She desperately searched the arcade cabinet to find an extra magazine, but found none and before she knew it, her life (in the game) was over.

"How the hell do you reload?" Claes gasped.

Nacho laughed, "This isn't like with real weapons," He shook the wired Uzi, "You reload like this."

"Thanks for warning me." Claes was about to insert another set of bills before she was halted by Triela.

"My turn."

"What?" Claes said, "I didn't know how to play! It's still my turn."

"You'll get another turn, just wait in line behind Rico," She pointed to an empty spot where the girl in question once stood, "Huh? Where'd she go?"

Triela only turned once to find Rico, who was studying another machine.

"Why don't you go play that game with her while I'm playing this."

"Fine," Claes gave her the necessary amount of money, "But only 'till you're through."

Claes approached her friend, "What's this, Rico?"

"I think it's a piano game," She pointed at the ivory and ebony keys, "I've been watching the screen, and I think you have to press the right button when the line reaches the bottom."

Claes joined her in watching the demonstration screen, and indeed she was correct.

"Want to give it a try?" She asked.

"Sure," Rico smiled, "I'm not very good at piano, but I'll just try."

"It's only a quarter of a piano," Claes noted the 24 keys, "So it should be easy." She inserted the necessary amount of euros to start playing, and followed the on-screen instructions, choosing one of her favorite songs "Chopin's Minute Waltz".

**_The Estate Romana Festival: Pub; Rome, Italy; 1900 hours, August 8, 2005_**

For every cup of sugar that the cyborgs consumed, a pint of beer was downed by the two men, who had grown to tolerate one another. The alcohol was only a slight factor, though, since both men were able to handle the amount of alcohol in their bodies; though there tongues were a bit loose.

"What made you join the fucking agency?" Bradley asked Jean, "Was it the concept that perked your interests? The money perhaps?"

"No, no, no," Jean replied, "I fucking hate terrorists."

"Oh, the deal with your sister?"

"Not only that, but everything that they do just pisses me off. They're always the ones who say we're the violent ones, but look at them! 'We're going to bomb all the schools in Rome if you don't give us what we want'. Bull Shit!"

"That's true."

"And why'd you join? Did the Almighty George W. send you here?"

"Hahaha, you goddamned Italian…" Bradley finished his glass of dark ale and ordered another, "The President doesn't even know about the organization that I'm part of. He didn't send me, my superiors did."

"I thought you ran the…the… um…" Him mind drew blanks; the alcohol finally unleashing its wrath on his brain.

"U.S.S.P." Braldey finished for him.

"Yea that."

"Hmm… Well, to put it in perspective, I'm like Lorenzo, you see? I run things in my area, but there are still broke-dicks that tell me what to do."

"Um…," Jean began, "'broke-dick'?"

"Heh," Bradley laughed, "Army slang for someone who can't get things done right with the tools they got."

"Ah," Jean said, "We have those here as well, but I wasn't really savvy to them."

Braldey checked his watch, "7 o'clock. Think we should head back?"

"Yeah," Jean attempted to retrieve his wallet, but was halted by Bradley, "What?"

"Drinks are on me," Bradley said, "I brought you out here, anyways," Jean gave his thanks. Bradley then asked the bartender, "What's my tab?"

"247 Euros."

"Jesus Christ," Jean sighed, "We drank that much?"

Waddling out of the pub, the men began their search for the children. The mixture of the crowds, the setting sun, and the alcohol in their system made the search more difficult, eventually forcing them to asking children that passed by. Their brilliant detective skills finally pointed them to a brightly lit tent.

Inside, they immediately recoiled at the amount of noise within the tent; it certainly didn't seem as loud from the outside. Thankfully, though, only a few steps were necessary to find their cyborgs; all of them gathered around a horrific looking maching, save for one girl.

Bradley approached them first and asked, "Where's Claes?"

"Hmm?" Triela wasn't playing at the time, but her attention was stillf focused on the action on the big screen, "Oh, she's over there." She waved her finger in a general direction to her left.

Bradley sighed, "Thanks. Jean, keep an eye on them 'till I get back?"

Bradley wandered to wherever Triela pointed to, and spotted a crowd of people. Wondering if this could be where Claes was located, he stopped by, and indeed, there she was, calmly playing an electronic keyboard. The crowd applauded once she finished playing the classical tune.

Once the "game over" screen appeared, she reached into her skirt pocket.

"Damn," she commented, "No more money…"

Half bitter, and half upset, she turned from the machine and right into Bradley who, as usual, had an energetic smile on his lips.

"Bit by the videogame bug, I see." He said.

"I'm sorry that we wasted all of the money you gave us," She apologized, "I'll make up for it by-"

Bradley interrupted her, "I gave you the money; I didn't lend it to you." He patted her shoulder, "Come on; let's go home."

The walk back to the car was as quiet as the first; not a lot of things were to be said, anyway, except for an exchange of words between the boys.

Jean broke the silence, though, surprising Rico, "Did you have fun?" He asked her.

"Yes," her response, "But I didn't spend too much money, or eat too much candy. I never strayed too far away, or start any trouble."

Jean gently patted her head, "Good."

* * *


	11. Chapter Ten: Tipping The Ashes

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Ten: Tipping The Ashes_**

_**

* * *

(Bradley: Narrator)**_

**_Social Welfare Agency: Bradley's Room, Rome, Italy; 0700 hours, August 8, 2005_**

Cigarette.

The thought of smoking was the first thing that popped into my mind; which was odd because my head ached so much that it felt as though it was going to fall off at any moment. My clothes from the night before were still on my body, and I had a strange sensation coming from my arms.

I scratched at the source of the weird, itching sensation and at the same time, felt my sticky skin. I was already late for morning P.T., and no doubt Percy would have my head for this, so I decided that a quick shower wouldn't hurt.

I still needed that cigarette.

**_Social Welfare Agency: Cafeteria, Rome, Italy; 0730 hours, August 8, 2005_**

Another thought occurred to me as I approached the cafeteria doors: how the hell did I get home?

Claes would provide the answer for me.

It was abnormally bright outside, so I had to equip myself with my darkest pair of sunglasses. Slipping a cigarette between my lips, I began to think about possible drivers for our trek home last night. Baldo was a good suspect; I wouldn't put it beside Benny for letting him drive his Lotus. Another possible suspect would be Nacho. He was certainly tall enough.

"Too much thinking, old man," I said to myself, garnering a few stares from a few passer-bys, "Thinking gives you wrinkles."

Upon entering the cafeteria, I spotted my son and his usual gang: Rei, Jose, Henrietta, Rico and Jean. With the exception of the blonde man, everyone else was dressed appropriately for an exercise.

Usually, upon seeing me, Jean would turn away and give me the cold shoulder while a comment from Percival would provide the atmosphere. This time, though, the two of us acknowledged each other with a nod, tipping his sunglasses that were identical as mine. Now I was sure it was a miracle that we were able to come home in one piece.

After my little stare down, I decided to skip my usual cereal breakfast, and instead opted for a bagel sandwich, exiting the premises at once.

The comments from Percival were muffled, but were nonetheless, hilarious, "Wh-What the hell did he do to you?"

**_Social Welfare Agency, Rome, Italy; 0745 hours, August 8, 2005_**

The thought hadn't occurred to me at the time, but I realized that a few people missing from the breakfast table. One absent person was the most obvious; Claes was already used to the schedule I assigned her, yet she was nowhere to be seen. I wasn't mad, of course, just a bit curious.

The other missing persons were Marco and Angelica. Marco left in a storm the other day, so I wasn't really surprised that he was absent, but Angelica was used to Marco's schedule as well – just like Claes is used to mine. Her situation confused me to no end, but after only a few more minutes of wandering about, I found my answer.

There, in the courtyard sitting at the edge of the fountain, was Marco. His hands were crossed; one of them holding a clipboard, and the other a pen. There was a stern look on his face, almost as if here were annoyed. I cautiously approached him.

"Where's Angelica?" I asked.

"Running laps," he grunted, "Around the entire campus."

"Oh," I guess he wasn't satisfied with her performance when jogging with the others, "So where have you been?"

"None of your business," he said, "Let me ask you something, though: who gave you permission to take Angelica outside the agency?"

"She was bored." I answered.

"That does not give you permission to take her outside. She's my cyborg, and I tell her what to do. Got it?"

I puffed my cigarette, "Calm down, I only took her to the summer festival with some of the other kids."

"She would have spent the other day doing something productive, like training, or exercising. What a day wasted; she knows what to do when I'm away," He sighed, "Not only that but you let her get a taste for candy."

"What's wrong with candy?"

"Her body is fragile; she can't handle the sugar rush!"

"But she can handle this much running?"

He was quiet.

"I was told of your situation by Jean the other day."

"What situation?" He was playing innocent.

"Angelica's memory loss, your frustrations, etc.; you're scared that she'll lose her memory again after retraining her, so you hardly even try anymore, am I right?"

"What do you think I'm doing right now?" He pointed to the clipboard, which apparently had data of Angelica's progress.

"You're sitting here, while she's learning how to run a faster mile."

He was quiet again.

"If you really believe that all this training is for naught," I continued, "Then why don't you just allow her to do as she pleases?"

Again, no response.

"You care too much for her, I can tell."

"…That I do."

"Then let her be herself. Ask her what she wants; don't just drag her by the leash. If she wants to continue to train, then let her, but," I gulped, "Lorenzo told me that too much conditioning on these children can cause side effects like memory loss, and even further conditioning may result in death."

"I know…"

"Then you know what to do."

**_Social Welfare Agency: Triela and Claes' Room, Rome, Italy; 0900 hours, August 8, 2005_**

After my little pep talk with Marco – who let Angelica off for the day, once she passed by – my pack of cigarettes suddenly felt light. I did share a few with Marco, and nearly smoked them all to kingdom come, but I stopped him so that I could save myself a few.

There was, however, one last question still lingering in my head: how the hell did we get home last night?

Of course, I wasn't standing before the bedroom door of Claes and Triela just to be weird. I softly rapped at the door, almost instantly receiving a muffled "Come in!" from the other side – the source of the voice was unknown.

Inside the room was a normal scene: Claes lost in another novel with ear buds and music on to block any disturbances, and Triela, creeping me out and making my skin crawl as always.

"Do you have to clean that thing everyday?" I pointed at her shotgun, which was fully assembled; bayonet included.

"A clean weapon never fails you in your time of need," She said, "And what's your problem? You should be nice to the person that saved your ass the other night."

I sat at the table across from her, "Oh did you drive home?"

"Yes. Everyone and I even had to stop you and Jean from jumping a few teenagers. Boy, you two have such dirty tongues. It was one curse word after another. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so angry at a handful of kids. Then again, this was my first time seeing a pair of drunken men…."

"Since when did you learn how to drive? Aren't you a little too young for driving?"

"I'll have you know that Hillshire taught me how to drive incase there wasn't anyone available during a mission. Besides, I wouldn't have done it if it weren't for Claes's badgering."

"I was not badgering," Cales hummed to the tune she was listening to, "I simply asked you and you said, 'ok'."

"Thanks," I said to both girls, "I'll have to repay you girls one of these days. Which reminds me: you girls have fun last night?"

"Oh you have no idea!" Triela was the first to say, "We spent a lot of money on candy and cakes and other sweets. We probably went on a sugar bender, now that I think about it."

"We did," Claes said, "We only had half of the money Bradley gave us when we stopped eating."

"Yeah…," Triela said, "But then we found this game where you shoot these zombies with Mini-Uzis, and the zombies would sometimes throw you to the florr, and you had to shake the uzi as fast as you can, and-"

"Hahaha," I interrupted her by holding my hand up, "Just don't tell Hillshire about this; he might end up buying you one of those machines for Christmas or something."

"I can't believe you got addicted to that thing," Claes mumbled, "They don't even have spare mags lying around. How can you expect someone to know that they have to shake the damn thing to reload?"

"It's a game," I said, "Besides, you seem to have gathered quite a crowd playing that piano game. What was it called? KeyboardMania?"

"Yes, that's what it was called," Claes closed her book and propped herself up from her prone position to a sitting one, "And I wasn't just a game, I was learning how to play some new piano pieces."

"Sure you were." Triela and I simultaneously blurted.

"Like I would ever get addicted to a silly game," she grunted, "Waste of time, that's all it is."

I smiled, "You know they have a home version of that game," I could tell that her ears perked up, "You want me to order that for you from Japan?"

Triela and I awaited her answer, which would have come as soon as I ended my sentence, but a rapid knocking came from the door.

"Who is it?" Triela called out.

Hillshire opened the door and peeked inside, "Oh, Bradley, I didn't know you were here as well. Anyways, there's a meeting at 10 o'clock. Everyone is to report to the briefing room by that time. I think we're getting ready for another mission."

* * *

**_Social Welfare Agency: Briefing Room, Rome, Italy; 1000 hours, August 8, 2005_**

Once everyone was gathered into the room, Lorenzo quickly started a presentation. With the lights dimmed, he used a clicker to advance a projector, displaying an image of a man's mugshot.

"This is Roberto Dandini; an ace reporter for La Repubblic. For a while now he's been digging up classified information on the US's 'generous offer' to help the SWA get out of debt; saying that, 'The US is more than just another contributor to the Social Welfare Agency' and that 'The SWA is more than just a government program dedicated to saving the lives of the helpless.'. Needless to say, he caught us red-handed. We need him eliminated." Lorenzo pressed the advance button once more and displayed the man's personal data from his address and telephone number, to his blood type and his glasses prescription.

The agents waited for more information before Bradley spoke up.

"That's it?" he asked.

"That's it," Lorenzo repeated, "Any volunteers? Getting rid of this man is of utmost importance."

Nobody wanted to volunteer for such a boring mission that even lowly field agents could with the need for cyborgs. The man's daily rituals were literally laid out before them; no challenge was involved in finding him. It was so routine of a mission, that even Jean – the man most eager to rid of any and all opponents of the SWA – declined to form a response to Lorenzo's offer. Bradley, however, had other plans.

"Claes volunteers." He said.

"What?" the girl shouted, "I didn't say anything."

"Yes you did," Bradley smiled, "You said you'll do this mission if I buy you a copy of that keyboard game, right?"

Claes didn't know how to respond, other than stuttering the beginnings of a few choice words.

"Now, now," Bradley slipped the last of his cigarettes between his lips, "Where did you learn such foul language, young lady?"

* * *


	12. Chapter Eleven: Precursor

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Eleven: Precursor_**

**_Social Welfare Agency: Briefing Room, Rome, Italy; 1100 hours, August 9, 2005_**

Every single pair of eyes in the room focused on her. She was inexplicably trusted into a leadership position out of her own freewill, and she didn't know how to handle it, even with all the training and preparation that Bradley provided the months before. She studied the stacks of papers laid out before her; everything about her target – from his daily routine, to his last dentist visit – was given to her, yet she had trouble putting them to good use.

"Ahem," Bradley interrupted Claes from her daze, "We should begin by re-introducing the target and his crimes."

Claes stared at the man; a mixture of spite and worry radiated from her eyes. Bradley wanted to cover for her – she was still a child after all – but his mind was set, and she had to do this herself. The first missions are always the foundation to what kind of future a young officer builds for herself.

"Right, Claes?" He nudged the girl, fully removing her from her trance.

"Right," She squeaked – nearly whimpering, garnering a laugh or two from the non-fratellos, "Well, we know that at around this time, he is at work. If everything goes according to his schedule, he'll be home by 5 o'clock. At 6 o'clock tonight, we go in and get rid of him, making it appear as though a burglar murdered him."

The room was silent; for what reason, she did not know. She began to feel a little uncomfortable when Bradley chirped in.

"You're talking about our target, Roberto Dandini, right? The reporter that knows about what the SAW does?"

Claes forgot that minor detail, "Yes, my mistake," She cleared her throat, acting as professional as possible, "Anyways, this is a simple hit. I want the Jean/Rico and Savio/Enzo fratello to setup sniping positions from the adjacent building. The SVD and the Nagant you two have are a bit too loud for this mission, so replace them with the Remington 597's."

".22 Long-rifle?" Savio protested, "Isn't that a bit too weak for a support role?"

"Um…" Claes wanted to hit her head against the wall. She couldn't come up with a decent response.

"Actually," Bradley came to her aid, "Enzo and Rico are excellent snipers, so Claes were kind enough to equip them with 100 round banana mags, they could lay down a wall of covering fire incase anything goes wrong. If you want, you could provide another layer of insurance and bring along another 597. Besides, the nearest building adjacent to Dandini's apartment is only, what? 20 feet away? Easy head shot opportunity for those two."

"I guess," Savio thought for a bit, then, "Fine. We'll use the .22's"

"As will we." Jean added.

Claes wiped the river of sweat from her forehead, "Well," she continued, "For ground backup, I want the Hillshire/Triela fratello. If anything goes wrong with the hit, Rico and Ezno will pin down Dandini any way they can, while Triela comes in to clean up. Any questions?"

Bradley was the first to raise his hand, "Are we to assume that you will be pulling off the hit?"

Another detail she skipped, "Y-yes. I will be the one to go in. It'll be a simple hit and run, along with planting false evidence that'll throw the local authorities into circles."

Bradley raised his hand again, "What weapon will you be using; as well as Hillshire and Triela?"

Claes stumbled for a moment to find the right words, but eventually said, "I-I've opted to go for a high capacity, low caliber SMG, so I think the Calico Sub-Machine Pistol will be good. As for Hillshire and Triela, they're back-up so they will be using slightly larger rounds; they can choose which ever they want."

Bradley raised his hand once more, "Who is going to be in charge of communications?"

"The regulars," Claes grunted, "Ferro, Alfonso, Olga…"

"May I join?" Bradley asked.

Claes couldn't believe the immaturity of this man. From the very beginning he was teasing her, playing around with her mind when he knows full well how much pressure rested on her shoulders. She knew the importance of this mission. For one thing, it was the first mission that she was taking charge of; one of many that are sure to follow, no doubt. Second, the disposal of this man determined the future of the SWA.

"_But why didn't anyone volunteer?" _She asked herself, _"Unless…"_

She looked at the man that pleaded with his eyes to be part of this mission, the man who forced her into this mission, the man who basically guaranteed the success of this mission.

"_I see…" _Claes hid a grin from the view of the others, _"He planned this all along, didn't he? Probably pulled a few favors just to find some dirt on the Dandini character so that our reason for killing him is just; kind of like that other guy."_

She cleared her throat, "Fine, you can come along."

**_Rome, Italy; 1830 hours, August 9, 2005_**

"So why did you choose Triela as backup?" Bradley asked via radio. He and the other radio operators were stuck inside the most stereotypical mobile communications unit: a delivery van. Amadeo was playing the part of a frustrated delivery man who was angry at the broken down vehicle (though it was still running for air conditioner use), while Ferro, Olga, and Alfonso were inside the storage area with Bradley.

"I trust her the most," Claes responded, not knowing that the "private conversation" that Bradley initiated was actually being transmitted across the frequencies of those involved in today's operation, "Even though she can be quasi-bitchy at times; she pulls through when the situation calls for it."

Lucky for her, the transmissions coming from the other end were not relayed – something that Bradley suggested incase any nay saying was involved. Needless to say, Triela had a few words to say to her once the mission was complete.

"All right then," Bradley said, "I'll let you do your thing. Just radio in if you need any assistance."

"Roger that."

Bradley relaxed in his seat, wiping the sweat off his brow before commenting to those near him, "Jesus, is it always this warm in Italy?"

"Not really," Alfonso answered, "It's been abnormally warm this year. Is it warm in Japan by this time?"

"Not really."

"Oh."

Ferro jumped into the conversation, effectively changing the subject as she did so, "Don't you have family over there, sir?"

"I'm in on this operation as an observer, Ferro. Please don't refer to me as 'sir'. Bradley will do," the woman nodded, "And yes, I do have family over in Japan. 5 sons, 4 daughters, and a beautiful wife; I need nothing more than that." Percival was, of course, in Italy with Bradley.

"How is it that you're able to work here then?" Ferro asked, "I mean, I haven't any children of my own, so I wouldn't know, but doesn't it make you sick how we manipulate these children to kill for our purposes?"

"Do you feel that way?" Bradley asked.

"Sometimes," Ferro said, "But I try not to get too involved… just in case anything happens. Surely you must have some objections to our ways."

"Why are you asking me this all of a sudden?"

"Just curious to find out an actual father's opinion of the SWA."

"We all have a purpose in life," Bradley's tone of voice changed – everyone in the vehicle noticed this, but could not figure out exactly what, "These children – they could have been policemen, doctors, politicians, schoolteachers – but instead they were robbed of that fate. Now they're back, and they have the chance to avenge themselves, to avenge those who suffered with them."

"So their fate was to be killers?" Alfonso asked.

"No," Bradley said, "They're here now because god – or whatever you believe in – is allowing them to release the anger that their past selves felt when they realized that they were dead, or dying. How do I feel about making them kill for our purposes? I feel that it's disgusting and sick; whoever thought of this concept should be killed by firing squad. It's morally wrong, it gives your country a bad reputation if anyone ever finds out, and it robs the children of their "natural humanity".

"However, it's too late to stop this agency, and you might as well keep doing what you guys do; it's proven effective against terrorist cells, and the world will benefit from the actions of these kids. It's also morally wrong to sacrifice billions for the sake of a handful. Though morally wrong to kill, if sacrificing 1 life saves the lives of 2, then in my mind, that 1 person has to die. Democracy at it's very best, if you will.

"'Why did I involve myself in the organization' You wonder? I couldn't let these children be disposed of when the agency ran out of money. They are children, after all, and they deserve to live, even if it is the life of the government's dog. They may have been brainwashed into obeying everything that their handler says, but I believe that inside every one of them lies a dormant child, waiting to be woken into a new life. I'm not only training Claes to be an effective member of this outfit, but to also be able to take care of herself whenever the time comes for her to be released into the real world. Surprisingly, most of the men who undergo this kind of special ops training never commit a crime, and are always successful throughout life. Think of my training her as preparation for the life after the agency.

"Hopefully the other handlers will follow my example when I leave. I know for sure Jose will, but I'm not too sure about the others."

"So that's why you joined…" Jean commented, via radio.

"Jesus, was this thing on?" Bradley sat up, "Shit, did everyone hear that?"

"No, just me and Rico," Jean said.

Bradley lifted his arm and realized that during his entire rant, he was leaning on the call button for Jean and Rico's frequency.

"Heh," Bradley breathed a sigh of relief, "Rico, did you understand all of that?"

"I think so," Rico responded, "You basically you're a hypocrite?" that kind of innocence was never really meant to be so cute.

"Ha!" Bradley laughed, "See that Jean? She's a smart girl all right."

"Right," Jean said, "So what? Are you planning on implementing some sort of rule that only allows us to keep out cyborgs for a certain number of years before we let them go?"

"Maybe," Bradley chuckled, "But we'll have to do something about that word 'cyborg'. Why? You can't stand the thought of Rico leaving your side?"

"You're a religious man," Jean switched topics, "Don't you believe in the 6th commandment: 'Thou shalt not murder'?"

"Do I believe in 'Thou shalt not murder', eh?" Bradley repeated before answering, "I believe my friend, Staff Sergeant Sykes, said it best for me: 'Fuck that shit'."

The radio transmissions were now silent from then on.

While Bradley was ranting and raving about the SWA, Claes was busy acting the part of a lost child in the apartment complex.

With fancy decorations and water fountains abound, it was clear that this was no run-of-the-mill apartment; stealth would play an important role on the outcome of this hit. There were too many people wandering about; if she aimed her Calico SMG at the target from the front door, panic would ensue. She would have to find a way to get inside.

"We all have a purpose in life," Bradley's voice came from her earpiece.

"Dammit, Bradley." She removed the ear piece and tucked it in her shirt, brushing off his impending comment on the agency as mere rubbish.

Returning to the job at hand, she worked her way up to Dandini's room. It was easy to avert the attention of anyone who was curious enough to approach her by telling them she was looking for her uncle. In fact, she noted to herself how easy it was for her to make her way to his room without any trouble.

"_I hate it when that old man is right." _She said to herself before knocking on Dandini's door.

A response came from within, "Who is it?"

Claes started her pre-planned routine, "Good evening, sir. My name is Freda Langley, I'm a junior reporter for La Repibblica. My boss told me that you were the one to ask when it came to undercover work. I was just wondering if you had a few moments to spare?"

After a few moments of uneasy silence, the man responded, "Of course. Please, come in. The door is unlocked."

A bit hesitant at first, upon entering the room, Claes found that it was empty; her target was nowhere to be found. Sensing imminent danger, she reached into her backpack for her Calico SMG (Suitable for the job since it chambered the quiet .22lr rounds). She began to execute the room sweep strategy that Bradley taught her; checking her surroundings often, and rounding corners only when it was safe.

She worked her way into the first room on her left, the bathroom. Once it was determined to be empty, she replaced her earpiece and reported, "The target is in his apartment, but I can't see him. He's hiding somewhere."

"Roger that," Savio responded, "We'll see if we can get a visual."

With that, Claes continued her sweep. As she stepped out of the bathroom, a burst of explosions came from the interior of the room, sending splintered wood in every direction. Claes jumped back into the bathroom, realizing that what had just happened was the result of a burst of machinegun fire.

"Dammit!" Claes yelled into her microphone, "I need covering fire! He has a machinegun!"

"I can see that," Savio responded, "But he's behind a wall, Enzo and I can't get a good angle on him."

"Jean? Rico? How about you two?"

"Can't get shit from here either." Jean said.

"Dammit!"

"Claes? What's wrong?" Bradley asked.

"The target has an MG!" Claes said, "I need backup!"

"Triela and Hillshire are on their way," Ferro said, "Jesus, this is going to be one hell of a cleanup job."

Claes mentally told Ferro to "Shut the hell up."

The maniac with the machinegun began to shout at Claes, "You goddamned robot! Why can't they send real men after me? 'Cuz they're too cowardly, that's why! Once I get rid of you, I'll expose this to the world and have you all sent to prison! I'll have the U.S. and Italy charged with crimes against humanity! I'll be known as the person who single-handedly freed Northern Italy from the rest of the Capitalist nation!"

"Ahh, go to hell!" Was all Claes could come up with.

Enraged, the lunatic began firing a volley at the girl's direction; her cover wouldn't last for long. Seemingly out of nowhere, Bradley's lectures about the importance of "point-and-shoot" techniques flowed into her head.

"…_being a split second faster than your enemy is the difference between life and death." _

Bradley's words repeated in her head. She hated it when the old man was right.

"Hillshire! What's your ETA?"

"Give us 2 more minutes." Hillshire said.

"Too long. I'm gonna try something."

"Claes if you do something stupid—" Bradley growled.

"I can't stay here forever; he's ripping away my cover!"

Without waiting for a response, Claes quickly peeked from around the bathroom corner, instantly found her target, took another split second to take aim, and squeezed the trigger of her SMG, releasing a full 50 round cylindrical magazine into the man's chest. Ducking back into her cover, she snatched a fresh magazine and reloaded, readying herself for another volley.

"Pellets," The man grunted, "You shot me with pellets?"

The deep waves of his footsteps drew near; he was going to finish her off.

"Gotcha." Claes heard Savio say over the radio. Glass began to rain in every direction. The target was now in the open, and all 4 snipers began to unload on him. With a soft thud sound, Claes knew that the man had made a fatal mistake by walking into the view of her covering fire team. The mission was over – for her at least.

"We're here!" Triela gasped, kicking the entrance down in an unnecessarily flashy movement, "For some reason the elevators stopped and we had to run up here!" She surveyed the area before saying, "Damn… those .22's sure pack a punch, don't they? And you said _I_ was a bitch…"

**_Rome, Italy; 2200 hours, August 9, 2005_**

"Well, at least you pulled it off," Bradley said as he placed bandages on several bleeding areas on Claes' body, "I guess I owe you that game, huh?"

"For that psycho?" Claes hissed, "You owe me two."

"Deal," Bradley slapped the last bandage, one directly on her forehead, with a bit of force, "I wonder, though, why a regular reporter had a heavy machinegun with him. I think there's more to this than meets the eye, right Jean?"

He turned to the man, but found that he was busy chatting away on his phone.

"He's probably reporting to Lorenzo," Bradley deduced, "So anyway, I'll have one of my sons pick the game up in Japan and send it over. Promise me that you won't spend more than 3 hours a day with this thing?"

"As long as I get the regular updates to the games."

Bradley studied her with a raised eyebrow.

"Um… I asked Pricilla if she could do a bit of research for me, and it seems that they come out with new releases every few months."

Bradley sighed, "Just don't get too addicted to this thing. Oh, and is your writing hand hurt?"

Claes whipped around her hand in question and shook her head, "No. Why?"

"You got lots of paper work to do; you created quite a mess around here…"

Her pupils shrunk, "Wait. What? Aren't _you_ supposed to do the paperwork? After all, _you_ were assigned to watch over me."

"Right…," Bradley chuckled, "I wasn't the one who volunteered for the leadership position of this sortie, was I?"

The girl was set to unleash a world of hurt on her partner, but their conversation was interrupted by Jean's commanding grunt of "What a fool."

"Something wrong?" Bradley asked.

"Marco dropped out."

"What?"

"Marco dropped out," Jean repeated, "He's out of the Agency."

"Well it's his choice, you can't stop him for being that way, I guess."

"Not only that; he's taking legal action against us."

"For what?" Bradley nearly jumped from his seat.

"He wants custody of Angelica."

* * *


	13. Chapter Twelve: The Ballad of Marco Toni

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Twelve: The Ballad of Marco Toni_**

_**Social Welfare Agency, Italy; 1100 hours, August 12, 2005**_

_**

* * *

**_(Narrator: Percvial)

Some would call the feeling I felt toward Marco a negative one. After all, seemingly from nowhere, he burst into my office a few days ago and demanded that I sign release and custody papers for Angelica. I was certainly going to do so – without question, I would have – were it not for Chiefs Lorenzo and Draghi barging into the room, unannounced, growling at the top of their lungs and at each other's throats.

Draghi reminded me that I had no legal right to release a cyborg, since – in a technical sense – she was the property of the Social Welfare Agency. This was fact; the U.S. occupation of this facility as officially a hospital used for U.S. military personnel and any nearby emergency patients, not as a military base. Lorenzo was less mild than the bearded man, reminding Draghi that he had no right to interfere with the affairs of Section 2, which Angelica belong to. He stated that I, in fact, did have the power to release Angelica from the grip of Section 2, only if I get his approval. On top of all their bickering, Marco was in the process of shoving a pen into my hand and a sheet of paper under my nose, stating that these were real documents that he wanted my signature on.

With all the shouting, prodding, and near physical violence before me, I realized something.

Draghi was right because Angelica was the property of the Social Welfare Agency entirely, and not just Section 2. However, as of one month ago, all things related to the SWA belong to the U.S. Government. Since I was put in charge of the entire facility, due to my father's "absence", and the Army still deciding who will seat as the permanent C.O. of this place, I had all the legal authority to release anyone I wished.

What a great start for the career of a 27 year-old.

The feeling I had toward Marco was most definitely not a negative one, nor was it ever positive. Hell, I didn't know what to think. Releasing a cyborg into the world would result in unknown consequences; it's never been done before. However, I've seen the girl suffer while on our morning exercise; it's my personal opinion that she cannot handle anymore of this type of work.

I wandered the campus searching for my father. Surely he would know what to do, since he is well versed in the world of decision making.

Fortunately I didn't have to trek too far from my office; I spotted him resting underneath a tree as he read a book. Claes was nearby as well, tending to her garden.

The behavior that my father was showing toward Claes never really struck me as an odd one until Rei pointed it out a few days ago upon their return from her first mission. Apparently – as observed by my fiancée – Claes was receiving the same treatment as that of any of my sisters; that is, as spoiled as my father can possibly make them. Of course, now that I think about it, my father would treat any child that way. I, for one, can attest to that.

"Hey, dad," I said, "What are you up to?"

"Reading," he said, without taking his eyes away from the book, "A Wrinkle In Time. Claes says it's a good book."

"It is," I sat next to him, "Hey; mind if I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"What would you do if you were in my position?"

He laughed and set his book down, "I've been in your current position plenty of times, boy."

"Really? So what would you do?"

"Honestly?" He thought for a moment, "Honestly I would tell Marco to shut the hell up and get back in line. Hell, I would jail him for thinking such insane thoughts," after a moment's hesitation, he added, "I'd probably beat the crap out of him too."

I wasn't expecting to hear that type of response.

"So you wouldn't let them go?"

"No," he said with a puff of air, "Why? Were you going to?"

I left without a response.

My father's advice proved to be near useless to me. I say "near useless" because he spent the majority of his early Army years in the middle of minor conflicts around the world, while I sat in an office. A shame for me, really.

As much truth as his words held, I didn't agree with him. Sure Marco was a bit out of line for rushing into my office, but he had a good reason. We both knew that Angelica didn't have much time left (according to Dr. Bianchi's reports), so he probably wanted to—

"Wait," I said to myself, "Dr. Bianchi should know what's best for her."

**_Social Welfare Agency: Dr. Bianchi's Office, Rome, Italy; 1200 hours, August 12, 2005_**

As best as I could tell, Dr. Bianchi was not that much older than I; though some have reported to me that he is almost as old as my dad. Still, that didn't deter me from initiating a conversation with him as he ate his lunch in his office.

"The fact remains that we do not know how much longer she'll last in her current condition," He repeated information I already knew of, "If we keep her here, she'll be forced to continue working, and continued working equals more injuries which result in more use of the conditioning drug."

"And that's what's draining her life away?" I asked.

"Unfortunately, yes. It's almost like a necessary evil."

I thought for a moment, "Isn't there some way you can reverse her condition?"

Bianchi stood still; maybe I mentioned something I shouldn't have.

"Their bodies are semi-organic; a mixture of living tissue and carbon-fibers. To replace those, we would need an extreme amount of the rug, as well as donor tissue."

"Jesus," I sighed, "To save her life, we'd have to sacrifice another?"

"Not necessarily; we'd only have to use cadaver tissue, but – like I mentioned before – extended use of the drug may result in amnesia, paralysis, and even death. With the current technology we have at hand, it'll be a huge gamble for her to undergo that procedure. That is, until we can find a way to purge the drug from her system."

That was all I needed to hear. Marco would have to decide the rest.

**_Social Welfare Agency: Briefing Room, Rome, Italy; 1200 hours, August 12, 2005_**

With all the highest authorities in the room, I began my deliberation.

"As you all know," I began, "Our fellow comrade here, Marco, has decided to retire from the Social Welfare Agency. Sadly, I wasn't able to spend much time working with Marco, but from what I hear, he's done one hell of a job. We're losing a good man, today; however, we all wish you the best of luck in your future."

Light applause erupted, mostly from agents of Section 1. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Marco's emotionless face.

"Additionally," I cleared my throat, "And most unfortunately, he's also decided that he wants his ward, Angelica, to retire as well… as his own child."

A round of murmurs rose from the small crowd, again, mostly from the lips of Section 1 agents.

"Being the head of administration, along with the consent of Comissioner Maria-Petrice, and the agreement of Dr. Bianchi, Dr. Masi and his surgical team; I have agreed to grant Marco his wish—"

I was interrupted by a wave of chatter, which was quickly halted by my friend, Jean.

"If I may continue," I cleared my throat once more. I faced Marco, "Know this: Dr. Bianchi has constantly reminded you of the disastrous side-effects that may occur during and after the process. Do you wish to risk Angelica's life?"

He answered without a second's hesitation; no doubt was detected in his voice, his posture proud as a lion, "She'll make it. I know she will."

* * *

**_Social Welfare Agency, Rome, Italy; 1500 hours, August 18, 2005_**

The day of Angelica's "Surgery" came faster than anyone who knew of the procedure noticed, most notably Marco. He appeared as though he slipped through a wrinkle in time; his face aged several dozen years before the eyes of those close to him, especially Angelica.

"Marco?" She asked from her bright white hospital bed, "Are you all right?"

Marco held a thin cylinder between his lips; something that did not belong in a medical facility – though it was not lit, "I'm fine." He said with a raspy voice.

He, of course, was saving face – his peers were gathered in the same room and he didn't want to show any weakness on his person. The cyborgs – crowded around the V.I.P. of the day – were none too savvy on Marco's body language, but the elder members of the room read him like a book.

"Maybe we should step outside and give that thing a spin," the ever charismatic Bradley pointed at the cigarette in Marco's fingers, "Come on." He urged.

Marco refused, "I'm staying here."

Without warning, a team of pair of uniformed nurses entered the room, announcing that it was time for the procedure to begin. It was then that Marco pulled off an act that nobody in the room ever expected the normally gruff man to do.

"Good luck." Marco said to Angelica as he kissed her forehead.

**_Turin, Italy; 1300 hours, November 24, 2005_**

The crisp fall air gave an aura of peace and tranquility as the hell within Bradley's SUV rode in the passenger seat. Claes laid back, not known to Bradley whether she was napping or not. He reminisced about the months prior to today; with more than a half dozen successful missions under her belt, she was already an effective member of the agency. Though he was always available for assistance via radio, he was never called upon by her.

This week's destination, however, was not to end in violence, but instead was a visit to an old friend.

Parking in the lot that belonged to an apartment structure, Bradley prodded the girl until she woke.

"Yo," he casually said, "We're here." He tossed a rather large, wrapped package into her arms.

Navigating the confines of the building, they reached their destination located at the top most floor of the complex. Gently knocking on the natural colored door using the supplied brass knocker, they awaited a response.

After a brief pause, the door slowly creaked open; from behind a familiar face, and a shaggy unfamiliar one that accompanied it.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Hello, Angelica," Bradley said warmly, "Is Marco here?"

The girl stared at him with quizzical eyes.

"You remember me, right?"

The girl shook her head and called into the room behind her, "Papa! There's someone at the door for you."

"_Papa?"_ Bradley and Claes shared the same thoughts and reaction.

Marco appeared from within the room, "Ah! General! Claes! What a pleasant surprise!" he ushered them inside, treating them as honored guests and having the girl retrieve their coats.

"It's been a while, Marco," Bradley said as he sat in an offered armchair, "You don't call, you don't write…"

Marco laughed, "I've just been too busy with other things."

"I heard you spend your time as a columnist for several publications. How's that been treating you?"

"It's great; keeps the bills paid. But enough of me, what brings you and Claes up here? I'm sure you didn't spend a few hours drive just to say 'hi' did you?"

Bradley signaled for Claes to present the gold wrapped package to Marco, "It's Thanksgiving where I come from, so I brought a little something to celebrate."

"Thanksgiving? And what's this?" Marco carefully unwrapped the box, "A… turkey?"

"_Smoked _Turkey from Massachusetts in the U.S.," Bradley proudly said, "Thanksgiving is a holiday where we spend an evening with friends and family to remember the year and giving thanks to whatever we cherish the most. I thought it would be appropriate to come here and share the holiday with you guys."

"I see," Marco smiled, and called to the girl, "Angéla, can you prepare this in the kitchen?"

"Wow a turkey?" she exclaimed, "I've never had turkey before! Come on, Perro; let's cook it!"

Bradley watched with a smile as he saw the young girl take the package and disappear into the back room; a large Golden retriever guarded her along the way. He then signaled for Claes to assist the girl.

"Angéla?" Bradley asked, once the trio was out of sight.

"I felt that it suited her better than 'Angelica'," He laughed, then whispered, "Returning her name and her life as well, you see? Besides, why should I take away the name of such an angel?"

"I suppose," Bradley smiled, "But… what's all this 'Papa' business?"

Marco laughed again, "The day we left the agency, she began calling me that. Who am I to stop her? What else would I be to her?"

Bradley shared the laughter, "Dammit Marco, if Jose were to hear this, I wouldn't know what to do."

* * *


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Metamorphosis

_Note: Smell that? Smells like cheese…. Anyways, please pay attention to the dates. Hmmm... the "add ruler" button isn't functioning...  
_

_Note to Danjo3: lol, "Disney-esque"?_

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Thirteen: Metamorphosis_**

**_Social Welfare Agency; Rome, Italy; 1100 hours, December 20, 2005_**

Never before has anyone seen Claes so radiant and excited; she was almost literally a ball of energy – the white and tan winter outfit that Rei help picked out during one of her days off duty helped to amplify her giddiness. She was bouncing from office to office, searching for Bradley to lay upon him good news: she was called upon for a mission. For the first time, the brass and Lorenzo approached her and asked – not demand or assign - her to execute a difficult task.

She was, of course, glad to accept.

Her record (as far as she knew) was clean. Not a single failure ever accompanied her mission reports, and even though the first sortie she "volunteered" for did go a bit sour, it all worked out in the end.

"You think he'll be happy to see this?" Claes asked her roommate; whom she dragged behind her.

Triela struggled to keep on her feet, "Of course he will. You remember the second time you were put in charge of us? It'll be a similar routine."

**_Social Welfare Agency: Briefing Room; Rome, Italy; 1100 hours, August 19, 2005_**

The absence of the Marco/Angelica fratello was not a major loss to anyone who was active in the field. They never did provide efficient backup, and Angelica was never able to take the lead when anything went awry. Nonetheless, their decommissioning was treated as if they were deceased, which ultimately meant more work for the other fratello.

"As you all know, this Dandini character turned out to be more than just a simple reporter," Lorenzo said, "In fact he happened to be a low ranking Lieutenant for the R.F. Which leads to today's – and possibly the upcoming days – mission.

"During the cleanup of Dandini's apartment, the crew found the half eaten remains of his cell phone," he paused for a moment to see if there was any reaction, and then, "Yes he did try to eat his cell phone; he was under the influence of an as-of-yet unknown drug—"

Jean interjected, "A mixture of PCP, Marijuana, and Cocaine."

"Right," Lorenzo continued, "The data salvaged from the phone contains several text messages and voice mails to and from key players of an upcoming raid upon our very own Agency."

Surprised murmurs filled the room.

"Yeah," Lorenzo sounded grim, "Dandini dug up more dirt on us than we initially believed, so we all should thank Claes for her successful attempt at eliminating Dandini."

Either through modesty or taken as an insult because she knew that everyone in the room knew she didn't volunteer for the mission, she received the light applause with little emotion.

"First up is this boy," Lorenzo presented a slide photograph of a young male teenager, "Recent high school graduate, Luigi Batolli, the informant. For several weeks now he's been snooping in on several members of Section 2 including Ferro, Amadeo, and, most notably, Dr. Bianchi – he happens to be his neighbor. Additionally, he's been allowed in and out of the agency under the guise of an employee for a medical supply service; so it's highly possible that he knows the layout of at least the hospital. We want him eliminated; as quickly as possible.

"He isn't much of a physical threat, so I want Claes to go in solo and take him out; you could use the experience. Backup will be whomever you choose; you'll need at least 3 other fratello. He's skinny, but we don't know what kind of heat he may be packing."

**_Social Welfare Agency; Rome, Italy; 1110 hours, December 20, 2005_**

"Oh come on, that boy was a joke," Claes grumbled, "He used up 3 magazines and he never once even came close to hitting me."

"I guess." Triela said.

The pair stood in the entryway of the cafeteria, scanning the room for Bradley.

"I don't think he's here," Triela said, "We should check with Percy. He might know where Bradley is."

Claes agreed, and off they went into the labyrinth of the SWA, heading in the direction of Percival's office. Breaking the only sounds of the girl's breaths, Triela initiated another conversation.

"Hey," she began, "Do you like doing this? I mean, is it hard not having anyone around to tell you what to do and where to go, while at the same time, having everyone wanting to know what you want them to do where to go?"

"Bradley told me that with time, I'll get used to it." Claes said.

Triela thought for a moment before responding, "Are you used to it yet?"

"Not really," Claes said, "Honestly, Bradley is always there to give me hints on what to do next. I think I'd be lost without him."

"Well, that's not true," Triela said, "There was that time where you and Nacho were assigned with stalking that one woman."

"Oh, you're right."

**_Sicily, Italy; 1100 hours, November 30, 2005_**

The objective that was given to Claes and Nacho was simple: locate the wife of the Chief of the Sicilian Police, and follow her around town as she ran her daily errands, which included meeting with her secret lover and head of the Sicilian branch of the R.F.; a simple task that quickly grew out of hand.

The pair wanted to blend in with the locals, so weapons were kept to a strict minimum; they were equipped with a tiny Derringer that only allowed kill shots within ten feet of their target. Radio communication was downsized as well; secured cell phones would have to serve as their communication source.

Once they set foot in the backstreets of Sicily, the color of Nacho's skin instantly attracted unwanted attention. While Nacho and Claes were stalking their prey, they too became the prey of a group of local thugs. Eventually, Claes and Nacho's target took notice of the large group of youngsters behind her and fled, losing the cyborgs in the process. Obviously the woman was warned about children.

Once their target was confirmed to be missing, Claes now had to deal with the kids who pestered Nacho and slung various racial insults. Not wanting to reveal their status as cyborgs by easily disabling the group one-by-one, she took Nacho by the hand, and led their predators through a winding street chase and into the territory of a rival gang. The result was a massive blob of fighting boys and Claes and Nacho escaping the scene. They were exhausted, dirty, frustrated, and unsuccessful in their return home; Bradley, however, reminded Claes that she and Nacho were unscathed, and that was all that mattered.

**_Social Welfare Agency; Rome, Italy; 1120 hours, December 20, 2005_**

"That mission was a bust because I couldn't talk to Bradley." Claes pointed out.

Before Triela could respond, Claes knocked several times on Percival's office door. Within a few moments, the door swung open by the hands of Percy himself.

"Hey, ladies," he said, "Can I help you with anything?"

"Have you seen Bradley?" Claes asked.

"I haven't seen him all day, actually," Percival said, "You might want to try the hospital."

"Why, is he sick?"

"He's been complaining about headaches for the past few days, so he might be there to check it out. Sorry I couldn't be anymore help."

"It's alright." Claes and Triela immediately hopped toward the hospital area.

"So," Triela returned to the previous subject, "You think you failed because of a lack of communication?"

"Of course."

"Yeah right. It was a situation turned sour by a series of unfortunate events. You have nothing to blame but the fates."

Claes froze at the girl's unexpected comment, "R-Right—" She stuttered, "And since when have you been interested in such things as fate?"

Triela blushed, "That book you gave me – Lolita – it was an interesting read…"

Claes laughed at the thought of her friend finishing an entire novel.

"Anyways, let's go. We still need to tell Bradley the good news."

**_Social Welfare Agency; Rome, Italy; 1100 hours, December 20, 2005_**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
(Narrator: Bradley)

"Making a list; checking it twice…" I mumbled the tune of "Santa Calus is comin' to town" to myself, as I literally checked my list of presents that a certain number of children deserved from me this Christmas. My list this year, however, swelled to nearly double that of last year, so I had lots of checking and rechecking to do.

After mumbling something about devil spawns to myself, I came across a name on my list that was highlighted; something that I almost never do, since I see everyone as equals. However, the highlighted name deserved the recognition.

"I wonder what Claes wants," I asked nobody in particular, "No more videogames, that's for sure."

The highlighting was not my doing, but instead was left there by the hands of my future daughter-in-law. There were no clues to indicate this, but I knew that Rei and Claes came to gown on each other, becoming quite the best of friends; much like Percival and the Croce brothers.

I laughed, "God, I hope they don't have a daughter…"

I needed to brainstorm, so I exited my office and began to wander the premises with a fresh pack of cigarettes in my pocket, and a lit cigarette in my lips. Almost immediately, I was joined by a familiar face.

"Good afternoon," Rei's face consisted of her signature emotionless face that, at any angle, would be interpreted as sleeping with eyes open, "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," I puffed, "just thinking about what to get for Christmas presents."

Instantly her dull appearance melted away into an eerily excited one, "I know what you should get Claes!"

I laughed, "I knew it was you who altered my list. Admittedly, though, I have no clue what she likes other than books and a certain music game."

She took my hand, "I know what to get her," She repeated, "Let's go to town and pick it up."

"Hold on," I said, "It can't just be _anything,_ you know? It has to be… special."

She halted, "You have anything in mind?"

"Like always I have no clue when it comes to girl stuff," I puffed, "But the gift has to have a double meaning. Something that says, 'Thank you for all your hard work.' And something that also says—"

"Says what?"

"Something that says, '…I'm sorry'."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_Social Welfare Agency; Rome, Italy; 2000 hours, December 20, 2005_**

Claes and Triela both lay on their respective beds, exhausted at the fact that they couldn't find Claes' partner anywhere on the campus. It was only a few minutes ago when they patrolled the parking lot that they found that today's search was in vain – Bradley's SUV was nowhere to be found.

"He must've slipped out in the morning," Triela noted, "You can tell him tomorrow, anyways."

"The mission begins in two days," Claes said, "It also requires that the team I choose and I fly over to the Eastern tip of Ehtiopia to meet up with a few allies; so we have to leave by tomorrow night."

"I'm sure he knows about it and is preparing some stuff for the trip."

"You sure you wanna come with?" Claes asked her roommate.

"How can I say no?" Triela laughed, "It's no Bora Bora, but it's warmer than here."

A sudden knocking came from the door and, when asked to enter, Rei stepped in.

"Hello girls," She said, "Claes, I heard you were looking for Mr. Nowell?"

Claes sat up from her bed, "Yes I am."

"Well, he just got back from the city and is in his office now."

The girl jumped from her bed and dashed out the door, taking care not to harm Rei in the process. The energy that filled her earlier in the day returned with a vengeance; she was standing before Bradley's office door within a few minutes.

She nervously knocked on the door, waiting for his confirmation.

"Come in." Bradley called from within.

She entered the room, hardly able to contain herself, "I-I have something to tell you, Brad." She forced herself to say.

"Oh?" Bradley wondered, "What is it?"

Claes took a deep breath, "Chief Lorenzo and Chief Draghi approached me early this morning with an assignment. They want me and a team of 2 fratello to assist Section 1's Ethiopian Division near Werdér. They are preparing to raid a group affiliated with the R.F. located in Berbera, Somalia," She took another breath before continuing, "Isn't that great?"

To say the man was excited would be an understatement. He jogged to the girl, embracing her within his arms, "That's excellent! You're already showing the brass how useful you are, even without 5 months of conditioning or a handler!"

Claes laughed, "Yeah, I'm showing them, aren't I? I mean, I'm not really in charge, since Hillshire was assigned to watch what I do, but I'm still an acting squad leader."

"I'm proud of you, young lady."

Claes smiled, "We leave for Trento tomorrow afternoon. It's kind of a shame that we have to spend Christmas elsewhere, but at least we'll have a bit of fun, right? I know you won't pass up a chance to shoot at some bad guys, right?"

Bradley's smile slowly faded away into a minute frown, "I-I—" He stuttered.

"What? What's wrong? I was just joking about the shooting part; I know you just want to serve as the communications engineer."

"I'm sorry, Claes," Bradley released her from his grasp, "I'm afraid I'm not able to tag along for this sortie; I'm leaving for Japan tomorrow, to spend Christmas with my family."

Claes struggled to keep her smile on, "Oh. Well, that's alright."

"I'm sorry," Bradley repeated, "I tried to have you come along, but Chief Lorenzo and Dr. Bianchi wouldn't hear any of it."

"I-It's alright," Claes said, "I have Triela and Baldo to watch over me, so I'll be fine."

Feeling slightly embarrassed, she slipped out of the room without another word.

**_Berbera, Somalia; 2200 hours, December 22, 2005_**

The mission was simple: parachute in and get rid of anyone and everyone in sight in the abandoned WWII airbase within a set time-limit. Of particular interest was a target named Gilberto Dandini, brother of the recently deceased Roberto, and the final suspect in Roberto's list of V.I.P. in connection with the planned attack on the SWA headquarters. While eliminating Gilberto would definitely send a wake-up call to the Republican Faction, keeping them from planning anything as drastic as a full assault in the future, it would only serve as a temporary peace maker.

The teams Claes chose to assist her – the Hillshire/Triela and Beniditto/Baldasarre fratello teams – readied their equipment specialized for this attack. Stealth wasn't necessary so they were each equipped with their signature main weapons; the handlers with their H&K G36s, Triela with her Winchester M-1897 Shotgun (Bayonet attached, of course), Baldo with his customized Yugoslavian SKS assault rifle. Finally, Claes deduced that she needed much more firepower than her trusty MP-5K submachine gun could provide, so instead she opted to bring along Steyr AUG that her former comrade, Angelica, used.

Various side arms were equipped as well, but with a mission so short, equipment was kept to a bare minimum of weapons, armor and ammo.

As Claes mentally prepared herself for the upcoming assault, she overhead one of Section One's lackeys providing comical relief to his comrades by commenting on Section Two and it's reliance on cyborgs. By the way they peered over their own shoulders to peek at her only to laugh much harder, Claes figured the comments made were quite harsh.

Her mind raced: _was everything I worked for all for naught?_ _Even in my leadership position, am I still to be regarded as a slave to Section Two?_ _What will happen to me once Bradley is gone? Will I be able to live a normal life, or will I still be a toy for Section Two to play with?_

"Don't worry about him," Beneditto reassured her, interrupting her thoughts; "You'll do fine. I'd rather have my life in your hands than his."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For Claes, the raid began within the blink of an eye, even though the plane ride felt like an eternity for her teammates and the Section One squad. It was only when she was pushed out of the light passenger Cessna was she able to mentally prepare herself for the immediate landing; with the freefall only seconds in length, she didn't have much time.

"Slave 2," The Section One squad leader called out Claes' ironically assigned call sign, "Slave 2, do you read?"

"I copy, Mania 1," Claes responded, "Loud and clear."

"What's your squad's status?"

Claes checked her surroundings, finding that everyone landed where they needed to be.

"We're good to go, Mania 1."

"Roger," Mania 1 responded, "Moving out."

With Section taking the left side of the base, Claes and her squad began their sweep of the right side of the base in which they would eventually meet up with Section One at the far end of the base and inside the control tower.

"Something's not right," Hillshire commented, "It's too quiet; nothing's happening and we're already only a few hundred yards from the rendezvous point. Cla— I mean Slave 2, anything going on with the Mania team?"

Claes spoke into her radio, "Mania 1, this is Slave 2. What's your status?"

"None of your business, Slave team."

Claes sighed, "Nothing so far, Slave 1."

"Idiots," Hillshire grunted, "All right, let's press forward then."

Another few tense moments, and both squads were inside the control tower. Not a single shot was fired in the process.

"That's odd, nobody was on patrol." Mania 1 said.

"No shit," Grunted an angry Hillshire, "Your Section was responsible for recon; what kind of information did they give us?"

"Stand down, Slave 1," Mania 1 ordered, "We wait here until pick-up arrives in an hour."

"Mania 1." Claes called out. She positioned herself near the door away and was acting as a lookout.

"What is it?"

"There's a large amount of people coming this way," She cupped her ear to amplify the sounds she heard, "From what I'm hearing, they may have weapons."

"I hear them too," Triela confirmed, "There's a LOT of people; maybe 100 or so; lots of firepower as well."

"It might be a trap that they set for us," Hillshire said, "We should lay low and hit them when they come near."

"Take a defensive position from upstairs!" Mania 1 ordered, "You and Slave 3 will fire upon the attackers when they are within 100 yards."

Mania 1 then ordered the cyborgs, "When I give the word, you three will open fire; you have better eyesight than we do, so you soften them up until we can see them."

Claes and Triela placed themselves behind a window that faced the direction from which they heard the most footsteps while Baldo took the rear. With footsteps and metallic clanking of weapons heard from all directions, it was now apparent that the R.F. set up an ambush for their arrival.

"I wonder who tipped them off?" Triela whispered to Claes.

"Who knows?" Claes shrugged, "I have a feeling, though, that it might be one of Section One's lackeys. It's a shame that they would sacrifice their own men, just to get rid of us and Section Two."

"It'll be hard to get rid of us," Triela giggled, "We have Bradley around, and Percy too."

Claes coughed, "I wish Bradley were here. Then maybe he'd verbally shove his foot up Mania 1's butt."

"Jeez, what a brute that Mr. Bradley." Triela joked.

"He's more of a man than your precious."

"Cla— I mean, Slave 2," Hillshire said via radio, "If you're going to make fun of me and fantasize about Bradley, then I suggest you turn off your radio."

"Woah! This was on?" Claes gasped, "Did the Section One guys hear that?"

"Alright, get ready." Mania 1 said – oblivious to the fact that he and his teammates was the subject of a joke.

Claes breathed a sigh of relief.

Once instructed to open fire, the mood in the rrom went from slightly tense, to downright fearful. True, the attackers were equipped with assault rifles, but they were also armed with high caliber machine guns and explosives. Claes and Triela were forced to retreat from kneeling positions at the windows and to take pock shots at the closest target when the MG's finished their short bursts.

"Slave 1 this is Slave 2," Claes shouted into her radio, "Open fire! Open fire! We have an unknown amount of heavy weapons zeroed on us!"

"Roger that Slave 2," Hillshire said, "From what I can see, they have about a dozen FN MAGs."

Mania 1 interrupted, "Take them out!"

Hillshire and Beneditto opened fire on the machine gunners, removing only a handful before the downed gunner's weapons were retrieved by one of their comrades.

"Dammit!" Mania 1 observed the attacker's ferociousness, "Those people aren't like Italy's R.F! Everyone fire at will! We'll mow them down before they get here!"

Even with all 10 allies firing at will, the attackers' overwhelming numbers eventually exhausted Claes and her allies' supply of ammunition. Once the last of their rounds was fried, enemy activity seemingly ceased to exist; nothing was head from outside.

"Did we get 'em?" One of the Section One soldiers asked.

"I-I think so," Mania 1 replied.

"Sir." Claes gasped.

"What is it now, Slave?"

"There are still more of them out there; they're so close I can hear them breathe."

"You're kidding…"

Everyone's shoulders seemed to fall at the same time; outnumbered by an unknown figure equipped with an unknown number of firearms, their chances of survival was very slim, even with the cyborgs.

Claes, however, thought differently. She sat in a fetal position, her thoughts mixing into one another; ideas getting lost within each other as they tumbles from her ears.

_Was everything I worked for all for naught? _she thought, _Am I really a slave to the Agency? They chose me for this mission; was it to get rid of me this way?_

She shook her head, _No. Lorenzo and the others are keen to me now; they know what I can do. That's why they sent me here._

She clasped her head, _But then, why didn't Bradley join me? We'd be back before Christmas… or maybe… he knew… Maybe he knew something like this would happen. Maybe he sent me here to test me?_

It was during the last thought that Claes' mind dimmed. She slowly peeled Triela's shotgun from her arms – alarming the girl in the process - and removed the sword-like bayonet.

"Claes!" Triela whispered, "What're you doing? Don't tell me you're going out there! You're gonna get all of us killed!"

Without any emotion, Claes responded, "What else _can _we do?"

Triela had no response.

"I'm not going to die. I choose to live."

In one quick movement, Claes was out the front door, bayonet in hand.

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_Note: For some reason, I didn't like this chapter, but my beta readers (3 of them) loved it. Questions and comments are greatly appreciated and may even help me become satisfied with this chapter, or alter it in a way that it makes me giggle... yes…_


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Revelations

_Note: Seems like everyone has jumped to conclusions… Apologies for the long delay in update. School, as always, sucks… It's also bittersweet that we know more information about Volume 4+; **the canon of the next few chapters will be off… WAY off… **(not like they were spot on in the pervious chapters...)Just a warning, is all._

_Anyways, like the previous chapter, please pay attention to the dates. Um… you might need to refer to the previous chapter for things to make any sense._

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Fourteen: Revelations_**

_**Tokyo, Japan; 2200 hours, December 22, 2005**_

Percival filled his lungs with air as he exited the airport terminal.

"Home!" He gasped, "Good to be back!"

The city nightlife bounced around him; he felt he could pick the distant lights like a piece of candy on a shelf.

His father, however, could not share his excitement; only able to act the part. His hair was disheveled and greasy. Though the weather was below freezing temperatures, the man's face was covered in sweat, promptly to be wiped away by a kerchief. It was apparent to Rei that something was on his mind.

"Excuse me," Bradley said, "I need to make a phone call."

_**Social Welfare Agency; Rome, Italy; 1300 hours, December 23, 2005**_

As Henrietta and Rico played in the snow, a group of familiar faces entered the courtyard.

"Claes!" Henrietta squealed, "Triela! Baldo! Welcome back!" Rico echoed her greetings.

Much to the girl's surprise, their welcoming was hastily shot down by the sour mood on Claes' face. Though Triela and Baldo were equally sullen, their response was a bit more positive. Claes ignored the ongoing conversations between her peers and retreated into her room.

"Triela," Henrietta began, "What happened to Claes?"

Triela sighed, "Nothing."

**_Tokyo, Japan; 1000 hours, December 25, 2005_**

Bradley basked in the happiness and joy that filled the room while his children and relatives expressed their gratitude for the gifts her brought from Italy. From expensive articles of Gucci clothing for the females, to Energie for the men, everyone was pleased with their gifts no matter the size.

Once the shredded gift wrapping paper was thrown away and the frenzy calmed, a trio of unopened gifts lay by themselves under the Christmas tree. Each of them was different in size and shape as well as wrapping paper, but the recipient's name stayed the same.

"Honey?" Bradley's wife called him over, "Who is this?"

Bradley smiled to himself for a moment, losing himself in his own thoughts before answering, "A good friend in Italy," he said, "She's a patient at the Base's hospital."

_**Social Welfare Agency; Rome, Italy; 1200 hours, January 3, 2006**_

The return of Bradley and company was business as usual — underwhelming at best; completely forgotten at its worst. Though it would be the last leg of his inspection duty, it was treated as if he never set foot upon the Agency before. Formalities were used. Draghi and Lorenzo went about making sure everything was in place. Even the cyborgs were well behaved when Bradley passed.

Neither of these pleased nor impressed him. Bradley escaped into his quarters after a brief meeting with the Chiefs of Section One and Two, taking time to unpack his belongings. He was nearly complete when knocking was heard on his door.

"Come in." he called out, "Oh. Hello Claes."

He greeted her with a chin gesture, and then continued unpacking. No response came from the girl.

"I-uh," He forced a smile toward her, "Percy, Rei and I bought you gifts while we were back home."

"Oh," she answered, "Thank you."

"Go ahead and open them."

Bradley presented the largest gift first. Being a bit heavy, Bradley had to slide the box over to Claes, who sat on Bradley's bed. The gift was from Percival.

Claes let out a yelp, "It's a computer."

Bradley smiled, "Now you can find stuff to read online."

He retrieved the next gift. Perfectly wrapped in gold paper, it was of a modest size; taller than Percival's gift, but much thinner. It was from Rei.

Claes had to hold her stomach as she laughed, "She knows I don't wear formal dresses," she gasped for air, "It's beautiful, nonetheless."

"Actually she suggested that I give that to you," Bradley inspected the true-white silk gloves that complimented the gown, "But I thought it was a bit too much for you."

"You'd be right. I'd probably never look at you the same way again."

"Which is why I decided against it," he laughed, "I know you much better than Rei ever will that's for sure. But at least you have something to wear whenevr the occasion calls for it."

"That's true," She sat up, "What'd you get for me?"

The last package that Bradley presented to Claes was not wrapped in gaudy paper, nor was it particularly large. It was rectangle in shape, blue in color, and an enigma in contents.

"This is from me," Bradley said after hesitating a bit, "I planned on giving this to you a little later on, but… Well, I suppose you've earned the right to see it now."

Claes noticed a lack of enthusiasm in his voice. Nevertheless, she removed the simple wrapping paper, producing a binder filled with sheets of paper.

"What's this?"

She began reading the cover of the binder only to drop it suddenly and spill its contents. She fell to the floor, unable to control herself or hold back the tears that blurred her vision.

Bradley sighed to himself; the name "Raballo" clearly read amongst the strewn paper. He almost regretted giving her this "gift".

_**Social Welfare Agency; Rome, Italy; 1300 hours, December 23, 2005**_

"Nothing?" Henrietta wondered, "What do you mean nothing?"

The 4 cyborgs retreated into the cafeteria and warmed themselves with hot cups of tea as they conversed. Henrietta, bursting with energy as always, nearly spilled the contents of her cup onto the table due to several quick arm movements.

"Exactly that," Triela said, "Nothing happened."

"Ahem," Baldo interrupted, "I believe what Triela is trying to say is that Claes fell into a trap."

"Trap? Was she hurt?"

"Maybe not physically…" Baldo trailed off.

"Jeez, you're just as vague," Triela cleared her throat, "The mission went as planned. We patrolled our sector without any problems, and we rendezvoused with Section One at the correct time and location. It's just that, at the rendezvous point, we were ambushed."

"By, like, a hundred troops." Blado added.

Triela continued, "We fought back for almost a half hour before everyone ran out of ammunition with the enemy still approaching. That's when Claes decided to go "Rambo" and stole the bayonet off my shotgun and ran outside."

Rico pondered, "She got rid of all the targets with your bayonet?"

"That's the problem," Triela sighed, "When we caught up to her, not a single person was to be found. Dead or injured, nobody was there."

**_Social Welfare Agency, Draghi's Office; Rome, Italy; 0900 hours, January 3, 2006_**

"The plan worked perfectly," Draghi said to his guest, "With the exception of a few of my men who knew about this, everyone reacted the way they were suppose. My men who knew nothing of this had some fun, I believe, as did yours; they were out of shape anyways. They complained of lack of assignments, so I'm assuming they've had their quota for now."

The other man stood silent.

"Come now, it's too late for second thoughts. Honestly, if you hadn't pulled the order to retreat, we'd have 100 dead soldiers on our hands. Your intuition amazes even me."

"So what was your initial plan?" Lorenzo asked, "I know your men wanted a bit of action, but don't you think pitting them against cyborgs was a little careless?"

The man leaned against the nearest wall, "You're right, it was a bit careless on my part. There is a bit of sense to my madness, though. I wanted to gauge the cyborgs' abilities. They've never been led by a peer before, and _she's_ never been alone. By observing what they do in such a situation, we could save lives of our men… and get rid of more of the enemy."

Lorenzo laughed, "You're such a sly bastard; you know that, General?"

Bradley shared in his laughter, "I told you never to call me that."

_**Social Welfare Agency; Rome, Italy; 1200 hours, January 7, 2006**_

For the following few days, Bradley took great care to avoid Claes; fearing some sort of radical action she may take against him. Initially she reacted calmly; wiping her tears after dropping the papers, then cleaning up, being careful to place each document where they belonged and walking out of Bradley's room with the binder under her arm. Bradley, fearing a repeat of the Elsa incident, didn't want anyone else around him to get hurt, so distance, he thought, was the best course of action for now.

It was only when Triela approached him that his assumptions were shattered.

"Hello, Triela." Said a nervous Bradley; Triela refused to let him pass the hallway.

"We need to talk." She said.

He tried to play innocent, "Um… about what?"

"You know 'about what'." She pouted, "Just what exactly has Claes been reading non-stop for the past 4 days?"

"Non-stop?" Bradley repeated, "I believe I saw her in the cafeteria the other day, so 'non-stop' may be a bit of an exaggeration… she might have picked up a sandwich or two… I don't know how you children work, either, but I assume that she also goes to the bathroom…"

"Stop avoiding my question!"

"Ok, why do you want to know?"

Triela looked away, "I want to know why she's been… I don't really know how to explain it, but—"

"Is she angry?"

Triela shook her head, "Far from it! Once in a while she'll start sobbing, but I know for sure she isn't angry or anything like that. Now would you please answer my question? What is it that she's reading?"

"Have you," he hesitated, but then said, "Have you ever heard of a man named 'Raballo'?"

By the look of shock on the girl's face, the answer was obvious.

Bradley continued, "What I gave Claes was Raballo's profile and history," he paused for a second, and then, "Including how and why he died according to a report written by Jean."

"Why in the world would you do that?" Triela asked, "Wouldn't that just hurt her?"

"Well, from what you say, the opposite is happening. Honestly, though, I have no idea what came over me. Maybe I pitied her, and how she knows nothing of her time prior to Raballo's death. But then I saw Henrietta, you and the others, and how you girls are just fine without that knowledge."

He began to place a cigarette in his lips, but decided against it when he saw the curious look on Triela's face.

"Anyways, I guess I felt guilty about the whole thing."

"How so?"

"Everytime I trained with her, I would only see the work of that man, not mine. Everything I 'taught' her was already unconsciously known by her; my guidance only allowed her unconscious to be released. What I was doing was stealing whatever Raballo was trying to raise, and claiming her for my own. You understand?"

"No." She said with confidence, "What, did that make you mad?"

"Not exactly mad," Bradley sighed, "Let me put it this way: you collect Teddy bears, right?"

"Collect is the wrong word, its more like caring for them."

"Uh, well… yeah. Say you take care of them for a while, then you go away for a long time, but you forget to leave your bears under someone else's care. Then, Henrietta comes by, sees your dusty, unused bears, and then decides to take care of them from now on."

"Oh, Henrietta wouldn't do that."

"Let's just pretend that she would. How would you feel?"

"Not how you feel, that's for sure."

Bradley sighed again, "Well, what if your bears could talk? Say that when Henrietta takes care of them, she never mentions anything about you. When you come back, they're exactly the way you remember them, but they don't know you. All they know was that Henrietta took care of them, and not you. Understand?"

Triela thought for a moment. By what Bradley saw, she was straining to understand his analogy.

Finally, she said, "My Teddy bears can't talk."

Bradley threw his arms up in frustration, "I guess it's just me then."

Triela laughed, "Well, I think you should go and talk with her."

Bradley figured that it was about time to face Cales and find out what's really going on in her mind. Sending Triela off with a brief "thank you", Bradley immediately strolled to her room, knocking on the door to confirm Claes' presence.

"Yes?" She called from inside.

"Claes?" Bradley responded, "It's Bradley. You busy?"

"Not at all," Her tone of voice was a normal as ever, "Come in."

Entering the room, Bradley spotted the girl perched on her bed. Without a book in hand and her legs swinging, it was almost as if she was expecting him.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Bradley began.

"Figure out what? The trap you setup for me?" Claes said.

"Yeah."

"The minute I stepped out of that control tower, I knew you were behind this," She teased him, "The uh… the call signs 'Mania 1' assigned us were a dead giveaway."

"Bradley laughed, "I was trying to piss you off."

"Not only that, but why would an _Italian _terrorist organization be located in _Somalia_?"

They both shared a few moments of hearty laughter. Then, after they caught their breaths, Bradley started the unavoidable question.

"Have you read it all?" Bradley said.

"Yeah." She said, knowing what he was speaking of.

It was an eternity before Bradley spoke again.

"So… are you ok?"

"Of course I'm ok." Claes said, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Bradley gave a sigh of relief, "I thought you'd be angry."

"At who? You?" She said with a hint of laughter, "It's stupid to be angry at the messenger."

"So you're angry with Jean? With the Agency?"

"I'm not angry at all."

By now, Bradley was getting a little more than curious. He wanted to probe her for more answers.

"So what do you think? About what the Agency did to you? About all the lies we've been feeding you?"

"Nothing." The girl was blunt, almost annoyed, "What's done is done; nothing can ever reverse the past."

"Oh?"

She tossed Raballo's binder onto the coffee table below, "If none of that ever happened," she said with a grunt, "I would have never been able to go back to work as an agent of Section 2. I never would have set foot outside of the agency. I never would have met you, or Percy, or Rei. I'm a completely different person than the Claes in that binder."

The man couldn't respond; the bottom of his throat was filling with too much pride for the girl.

"I am Claes," she jumped down from her perch to stand before Bradley, "I decide what I'm going to do; I'm not going to let my past stop me from becoming what I want to be."

* * *


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Curtain Fall

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

**_Chapter Fifteen: Curtain Fall_**

* * *

(Narrator: Bradley) 

**_Rome, Italy; 1300 hours, May 7, 2006_**

The tranquility of the plaza Claes and I observed from our table at a small café we occupied was nothing short of a miracle, at least in my eyes. Citizens, businessmen, and schoolchildren alike conglomerated together, appearing not to have a care in the world; each one going about during their free lunch hour, or whatever it was that attracted them to stroll in the early spring sunshine.

It was unfortunate that only we knew of the imminent danger that approached.

"May I take your order?" a waiter with a snobby appearance asked.

I cleared my throat and said, "I will be having the salami and mozzarella panino with a side of marinated olives."

The waiter wrote down the order and then asked Claes, "And may I have your order, young lady?"

I cleared my throat once more, gaining the attention of the waiter and interrupting Claes in the process, "My _daughter_ will have the eggplant frittata with extra mixed vegetables and a dash of ricotta on the side."

The waiter smiled, "Excellent choices."

"Also, I'd like a bottle of Amarone della Valpolicella to share."

"Very good," said the waiter after writing the orders, "I will return shortly with your wine."

As the waiter left, I happily returned my attention to the newspaper on my lap only to find the girl from across the table giving me a menacing glare. I couldn't help but smile, but I did my best to try and hide my emotion; a sip of water helped calm my expression, but I doubt it did much.

Finally, it was Claes' turn to smile, "'Extra vegetables'?" She questioned, "What am I? 7 years old?"

"A growing young woman must watch her figure," I teased, "Lest she winds up fat and unmarried at the age of 40."

An elderly woman grunted from behind, which I promptly chose to ignore.

Claes shook her head, "You do know that I happen to enjoy vegetables, right?"

I took a moment to ponder, "Oh, right. You have that garden and all."

Our conversation was briefly interrupted by a gaggle of waiters serving the chilled wine to the both of us. Taking a small sip, Claes wiped her lips, almost spitting out the crimson beverage.

"It's much too strong," She complained, "This isn't appropriate for lunch."

"Oh?" I smiled, "And since when were you such a connoisseur?"

Claes took another sip of the wine, only this time she was able to tolerate the high amount of alcohol, "Since now, I supposed."

"I just wanted to relax a bit before everything goes to hell."

"Since when did you use alcohol to re— ah, never mind."

I settled into my chair. Closing my eyes after allowing a portion of the wine to envelope my senses, I almost fell into a trance, letting loose countless memories stored within my mind.

"I can't believe it's already been a year." I said after a brief silence.

"Has it?" Claes wondered, "Oh, it has, hasn't it? I didn't notice until now. Doesn't that mean your inspection duty is almost over?"

"Yeah. Which means I'll be heading home soon."

"Oh."

I ignored all proper etiquette by drinking half of my glass of wine, "So anyways," I changed the subject, "Our 'guy' is supposed to show up around 1:30 in this area. You tell me when you see him. You memorized his voice clips and photographs?"

"Of course I did," Claes said with an aura of confidence, "Why wouldn't I?"

I nodded in approval, "Good."

Claes still had something on her mind, so she asked, "So, when you go back home, does that mean you're supposed to disavow any knowledge of The Agency?"

"Yeah," I sighed, "I've been thinking about that a lot, recently."

"I can tell."

"Actually, I have something special planned before my inspection duty is over."

"You mean like a surprise?" She groaned; quite loudly, might I add.

"You could say that," I smiled, "Though I'm not sure how approving both Chiefs would be about it, but I'm positive that you'll love it."

"Stop being so smug," Claes pouted, "The completion of your duty is weeks away; why are you telling me this now? You think I'll die from curiosity?"

I couldn't help but laugh, "I'm sorry. It's just this bad habit I have; I'm not good at keeping secrets, I guess."

"Secrets, huh?" Claes said, "That reminds me; I noticed that you always carry those revolvers around with you. I've been curious about those. Care to explain?"

I retrieved the revolver that rested at the back of my hips, the one called "Raging Bull". No doubt a few onlookers were shocked at the sight of a weapon, but I didn't care much. If questioned, I had the proper documents that allow me to carry it.

After emptying the chambers of their projectiles, I handed the weapon to Claes for her to inspect.

"That," I told Claes, "Was given to me by my mother."

"Your mother?"

"Yes. She left me when I was 16. She told me to join the military, and so I did, but before she left, she had this made just for me; something to remember her by, I suppose. A bit too powerful for my taste - its recoil is too much for a firefight – but most of the time, people run at the mere sight of it."

"Wait, your mother _left _you? Why?"

"Who knows?" I shrugged, "Did I ever tell you that I was an orphan?"

She shook her head, "I can't recall."

"Well I was adopted by my mother when I was 3 or 4, I can't remember, but after that, my mom and I never stayed in one place for more than 3 days at a time. She always told me, '3 days is enough to get a feel for a place without falling for it'."

"So you were wanderers?" By now, I could tell that Claes was genuinely interested with my story.

"'Wanderers' is not quite right. I prefer the term 'travelers' who traveled on this old Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Anyways, she was the one who taught me everything that I know now. Martial arts, marksmanship, survival techniques, what-have-you; she was my teacher for everything."

"Wow, she must have been good at all those things then."

"I guess." I shrugged.

"What about the other gun?" Claes asked, "Looks more worn than this.

After taking the weapon in question from my chest holster – the Mateba Model 6 Unica - I repeated the same procedure of removing the rounds and handed it to Claes.

"This was my mom's personal handgun," I said, "Honestly, I don't like it as well, since it uses the same rounds as the other, and because it's popular among internet freaks for its use in some cartoon; but it never leaves my side."

Claes appeared to be confused, "You said your mother left you. So did she give you this as well?"

Before answering, I finished my glass of wine. Then I said, "I found it."

"'Found it'?" She echoed, "Where?"

"Found it in dusty old village in Afghanistan about 5 years ago. This man gave it to me after my squad and I defended his house from a few muggers."

"How did he get a hold it?"

I gulped, "He…," I hesitated, but forced myself to press forward, "He said he took it from a woman dying of thirst in the desert."

Claes was silent.

I let out a nervous chuckle, "He laughed when he described how she begged for something to drink; said she was so dehydrated that her eyes turned red because of the lack of tears, and that she sounded like she was shouting a whisper. He took everything from here; the motorcycle that she traveled on, that gun, her rations, supplies, even the clothes off her back. Apparently he made a small fortune selling the items he pilfered."

Claes finally spoke, "What did you do?"

I sighed, "Nothing."

"Why?"

I sighed, "I didn't—"

Thankfully, our conversation was once again interrupted by our waiter. He quickly served us, refilled our wine glasses, and then headed back to tend to the other customers.

Meanwhile, Claes mumbled to herself.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I said, 'Why didn't you have your revenge on the guy'?"

I replied, "Because he had kids, I suppose."

"So?"

I laughed, "You'll understand when you have kids of your own."

"I don't plan on having children, thank you very much." She said with a bit of ire.

For the remainder of our stay at the café, Claes and I enjoyed our lunch, only speaking to comment on the food, or at certain passer-bys that caught our fancy. Once we finished eating, we sat and waited for our target to arrive. It felt as though only a few moments passed, but it wasn't until our waiter reminded us of the time that I realized it was nearly dusk.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid we are closing to prepare for the evening guests." The waiter apologized.

I checked my pocket-watch, sighing loudly as I read the time aloud, "5 o'clock. It seems like they aren't showing up."

"I'm sorry, sir, but were you expecting someone?"

"You could say that," I responded, and then to Claes, "Come on, let's go home."

In the next second, I was on the floor; everything around me faded into black…

* * *

…_The blast destroyed an entire city block. Its point of origin was located about half a building away from where a prominent U.S. General was located…_

Bzzzzt

…_There are several unconfirmed fatalities. However, there are 347 reported injured victims of the blast, including a United States General, whose name has been unreleased. We are told that this General was on vacation in Italy, and was having lunch when…_

Bzzzzt

…_We are being told that the General is in critical condition as of now, and was rushed to the recently acquired Rome U.S. Army hospital. Details are scarce as of now, but it appears that the General was involved the acquisition of the former Social Welfare hospital in Rome…_

Bzzzzt

…_It is unknown whether this was a terrorist attack or not, but apparently the most heavily injured person was a U.S. Military General. No details as of yet, but we have an eyewitness report that the General was found unconscious and, quote, "In a 3-inch deep pool of his own blood", end quote…_

Bzzzzt

…_We are receiving breaking news now. According to Roman Officials, the radical terrorist organization "The Padania Republic Faction" are claiming responsibility, stating that it was their intent to send a message to the U.S. to stay out of Italy, and that their target was indeed a still unnamed General of the U.S. Army…_

Bzzzzt

…_U.S. officials say that they have no intention of declaring war against Padania, but that they will suffer the consequences for their actions…_

Bzzzzt

…_Once again, The General is in critical condition. Our sources say that his body was nearly severed in half and that he has lost 80 percent of his blood, but it is still unclear what kind of injuries he has suffered…_

Bzzzzt

Triela shut off the television from across the room; if the news was depressing to her, then it must have been devastating for her roommate. She was about to say a few words of comfort but was interrupted by Claes herself.

"Why'd you turn it off?" She asked.

Triela was at a loss for words.

"Turn it back on, I was watching the news."

Reluctantly, Triela powered up the television once more and added, "Why? Why would you want to keep hearing all of this?"

"Its news," Claes said, "I find the news interesting."

"Don't you care what happened to Bradley? That he's hurt right now?"

"What can _I_ do?"

"Don't mope around here, _pretending_ that you could care less."

It was obvious that Triela struck a nerve; Claes threw the nearest cloth article to the ground.

"Go see him," Triela said while shutting off the television, "Before you regret it."

**_Social Welfare Agency: Briefing Room; Rome, Italy; 0100 hours, May 8, 2006_**

Finding a small gathering of adults in the hallway, Claes knew that she was walking in the right direction. Once an agent recognized her, they stepped out of the way as if she were parting them by will power alone. There, in the center of the huddled mass, sat Percy and Rei, comforting each other outside the door to Bradley's assigned room.

Percy was the first to speak, "How are you doing, Claes?"

The girl nearly forgot that she, too, was caught in the epicenter of the blast; her cybernetic modifications protecting her from major damage, but bandages that covered her body was a sign that she did sustain cuts and scrapes.

She shook her head, "I'm alright, and you two?"

Percy forced a smile, "Tired. Too much happening all at once."

"Oh?"

"Chief Lorenzo sent out several of the fratello for emergency recon. They're checking to see if Padania is up to something or even if they're still around at all."

"I see."

Percival choked up a bit as he spoke, "Hey, why don't you go and see him?"

"Am I—" She stepped forward, "Am I allowed to?"

"Yeah, the doctors won't mind. We're shipping him home in a few hours, so… you should say goodbye."

Claes gulped, "Alright."

She entered the room alone. The rhythmic beeps and mechanical sounds of the delicate instruments guided her through the dark corridor. She stood at the bedside; the pulsing mass of burnt flesh contrasted by white sheets looked nothing like the man she admired only hours before.

"Bradley," she said softly, "Sir? It's me, Claes."

The man was best described as a shadow of his former self; quite literally as well.

Claes continued, "I hear you're going home tomorrow."

Bradley slowly nodded.

"That's good. You'll have a better time recovering there."

"Claes…" Bradley managed to groan.

She leaned in closer, "Yes?"

"…My surprise… I'm sorry…"

"Don't worry about it," She assured him, "Whatever it is, just don't worry about it. You can have Percy send it to me."

It took Bradley a moment to form a complete sentence, "I can't… send…it."

"You shouldn't talk, you'll hurt yourself."

"I… was," he continued, "…going to…join… agency…"

The girl was left breathless.

"I'm…sorry… my… mistake… sat too long…"

"Don't blame yourself for something that you didn't do!" Claes cried, "It wasn't your fault. I'll do whatever it takes to find the ones responsible for this! We'll make them pay!"

"I'm proud… I should have… joined earlier…. still have lots to teach."

Claes's laugh was almost unnatural, "You should save your energy. By this time tomorrow you'll be home, getting better. You shouldn't worry about me… anymore."

Bradley managed to smile before the final ounces of energy drained from his body.

"You'll do fine."

* * *

_The abrupt ending is exactly how this author wants you to feel; wanting more, but never being able to receive it..._

…_just my two cents, is all. 'Till next time._


	17. Epilogue

_**Life, Liberty, And…**_

**_A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:_**

_**Sintendo**_

_**Epilogue**_

"Come on, grandpa, you're not _that _old." A cheery girl called out.

Were he a few years younger, the girl's neck would have already been in his hand. However, due to doctor's orders, Bradley didn't increase his pace. He blamed his inability to adapt to using a cane and what he called a "plastic leg". He sighed as he witnessed the girl tripping over a stone and falling to the grass with a dull thud.

"Careful, Claes," Bradley called out as he took care not to step on the uniform stone platters he passed, "This is a cemetery, young lady. I expect you not to be horsing around."

The girl stopped, readjusting her glasses as she spun around to face him, "'Horsing around'? I'm not 'horsing around'."

"Bah," Bradley said, "We're almost there, anyways."

"Who are you visiting anyways?"

The man didn't answer. Instead, he stopped before a moderately decorated headstone, using his cane to brush off what little dirt accumulated on its polished granite surface. His own face reflected on the ebony glass; every detail from - wrinkles to scars - was not only visible, but also a painful reminder of how quickly the time passed.

"So you're back," A familiar voice called out to him from behind, "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Bradley laughed, "You never change, do you, Jean?" He then noticed Jean's appearance, "Jesus, you _haven't _changed at all!"

The blonde was just that, still blonde, facial hair absent as well. Instead of a short cut, however, he wore his hair in a pony tail in stereotypical Italian fashion. His dark sunglasses did not allow any light to pass, so much of his eyes were not seen by Bradley. Though Jean used a cane, it appeared as though it was not necessary since it was tucked under his arm.

"Of course not," he laughed, "I heard from Percy that you were visiting and that you have a bad leg, so I thought I might come by to help you out. It seems like you still have some spunk left in you, though." He extended his hand, but found that it was inappropriate for him to use his right hand, "I, uh… I didn't know about _that_, sorry."

Bradley glanced at where his right arm should have been, "Oh, the reason from my retirement? Don't worry about it, it was just extra weight."

They laughed.

"So," Bradley continued, "What have you been up to?"

Jean cleared his throat, "Well, Rico…passed… at about the same time when Chief Lorenzo retired; that's when I took his place. Been running things with Percy ever since."

Bradley recoild in shock, "How long ago was this?"

"Oh, wow," He wiped his hair back, "Probably 10 or so years now."

"Long time…," He thought for a moment, then said, "Did… did she go in peace?"

"Yeah…"

"What about the others?" Bradley asked; his eyes never moving from the headstone he stood over.

"As far as I know, they're scattered throughout the world, enjoying the rest of their lives. Jose is in the U.S. right now, Alaska I think,; getting married soon too. Hillshire is still around these parts, and so are Marco and Benneditto. I'm sorry but I've lost track of everyone else... The cyborgs—"

"It's not a problem," The older man interrupted as he stood, "I'll find out soon."

"It's a shame that you were kept in the dark about all this," Jean said, "I suppose rules are rules. We could have kept in touch, though."

"I follow the rules, Jean, you know that."

From then on, the only noise that was heard was from Bradley's guest; the girl was running to and fro, chasing butterflies and other insects. She only stopped to retrieve a few worn books that fell from her satchel.

"Hello there, Claes," Jean said as she passed, "Nice to see you today. Are you being a good girl for your Grandpa?"

She mock-saluted him, "Yes sir!"

Jean laughed, "Good. You remind me a lot of a young woman I used to work with, you know that?"

Claes groaned, "You tell me all the time!"

Bradley seemed to grow pale, "So," he began to ask Jean, "How did… _this _happen?" He pointed the tip of his cane at the headstone he kept watch over.

Jean's smile slowly melted into a grim frown, "The side-effects of the conditioning she was initially given finally caught up with her."

"So that means…"

"Everyone who took regular doses of the drug has long passed, Bradley."

"I see. Even Henrietta?"

"She was the lucky one. Chose to stay here in Rome; she's now my assistant. I suppose that she chose to stay at the agency because she knows that one day, she'll just collapse…"

"I see," Bradley wiped more dirt away from the face of the stone, reading the words to himself, "Freda Claes Johansson. 1991 – 2019."

"She was one of the best agents we've ever had," Jean said, "She worked hard to shape what you've allowed us to have. Were she still alive, she'd have been an excellent Chief."

Bradley laughed, "Hah… a cyborg as Chief of the SWA, huh?"

They were interrupted by the other Claes, "Why so sad, guys? Who is this anyways?" She read the name on the stone in question, "Huh? Her middle name is the same as my first name!"

Bradley laughed, "Your parents named you after this woman, Claes."

"Why?"

Bradley shook his head, "You ask your parents for that. It'll give Percival something to do tonight."

Again, Bradley was interrupted, but this time by another young girl, "Excuse me," she asked, "I'm sorry, but I'm here to visit Ms. Johansson's grave, so…"

"Oh," Bradley stepped out of the way, "Excuse me."

Through Bradley's observations, the girl was about 15 years of age.

"Alese, you should treat the elderly with more respect than that." Jean scolded, unintentionally mocking Bradley at the same time.

"It's alright Jean," Bradley said, then faced the girl, "If I may ask, what is your relation to Claes?"

The brown haired girl glanced back at Jean as if to ask for approval and he nodded in response as if to allow what she was about to say.

Apparently she was allowed to do so and told Bradley, "Ms. Johansson is— was my handler."

She, Jean, and the other Claes shared a look of befuddlement; they only could stare at the old man as he gave out a roar of laughter and a river of tears.

_**The End**_

* * *

_Note: Been a wonderful ride, everyone! Keep an eye out for the "original" ending, coming soon!_

_Big thanks to Natchsider and Colonel Marksman for the inspiration to write this. _

_To Sheo Darren for to wonderful story "Life Goes On" which has given me ideas about what to write._

_To all my reviewers for pushing me to continue writing this._

_And to all the regulars at the "Yea for Gunslingergirl" forum, for all the information about the manga. _

_Lates._


End file.
